


Black Sheep, White Armor: Book One

by Cateia



Series: The Chronicles of Vael [1]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Assassins, Bar fights, Blood Magic, Bloodletting, Bromance, Brotherly Love, Chantry Life, Daddy Issues, Denerim, Dom!Sebastian, Drinking, Drinking Songs, Drunkistair, Espionage, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Family Drama, Intrigue, Kilts, Kirkwall, Knifeplay, Light Bondage, Nymphomania, Rake!Sebastian, Royal plots, Seekers, Sex, Sex Magic, Starkhaven, Too many OC's to list, Vael Family - Freeform, Val Royeaux, archery contests, non-canon AU, scotchy-scotch-scotch, troubled youth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-18
Updated: 2012-11-20
Packaged: 2017-11-10 05:28:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 152,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/462685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cateia/pseuds/Cateia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The untold story of the Vaels of Starkhaven--a story of friends and family, love and loss, disgrace and redemption. </p><p> <i>"You don't know what it's like...to know you weren't wanted. To know you're a burden. To know that your own father, despite what he says to your face, doesn't consider you a true Vael…and that even though you tried to prove yourself through regular means, the only time you've ever captured his attention is when you come home stumbling drunk…"</i></p><p>Sent to the Chantry at 17, Sebastian Vael doesn't deny that he fully deserved to be called the Black Sheep of the Vael family. What Sebastian didn't know was that the decision to exile him wasn't made solely because of his shameful behavior, and that the events leading up to his departure would shake the principality of Starkhaven to its very core.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Grandda's Bow

**Author's Note:**

> This story follows young Sebastian Vael as he struggles with being the third son in a royal family. It has strong themes of sex, alcohol abuse, and emotional abuse. It chronicles not only Sebastian's life but that of the Vael family itself. It will follow Sebastian from thirteen through the fall of the Vael family, shortly before we meet him in-game in Act I of Dragon Age 2. His adventures in Kirkwall (and with Hawke!) will be covered in the sequel.
> 
> If, after all that, you choose to read on, then I hope that as an author I give you a story that is more fulfilling than the half-assed backstory that BioWare dropped in our laps. I thank you in advance for reading this, and I always welcome feedback.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: Hail BioWare, those horrible teases. However, this story has a wide cast of characters, many of whom are original. If it's not in the game, the codex, or the wikis, it's mine.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story is FULL of original characters. To set things up a bit, Sebastian's grandfather (Malcolm "Colum" Vael) is still on the throne, and his father (Aidan) is the heir presumptive. As far as the other main characters are concerned, Sebastian has two older brothers (Corbinian, 17 and Gavin, 15) and two younger sisters (Aileen, 11 and Hannah, 9). His mother is Andra and grandmother is Meghan. In addition, Colum Vael's younger son is Alec, and his son is the Goran we know of later when Sebastian is in Kirkwall.

"Easy on that string, Sebastian," Colum Vael cautioned as he watched the thirteen-year-old fail miserably at trying to string the bow he had carried at his back since he was…well, not much older than the auburn-haired boy in front of him now. He, too, had gone through this rite of passage with his own grandfather…and he, too, failed more times than he would ever admit to his grandson.

As he watched Sebastian, Colum recalled that at one time he had also had the same thick bronze hair and sparkling blue eyes, both of which were being claimed by the years slowly but steadily. His pate was starting to show at the top, where the now-silver hair had all but left, and the vivid blue of his irises had given way to a duller, grayer shade. Colum Vael was about to celebrate his 74th Name Day; he had been the Prince of Starkhaven for nearly 50 years, and the older of his two living sons, the Crown Prince Aidan, had produced this struggling boy before him. He had lived a long, full life and the Maker had blessed him richly with family, though for a long time it had seemed like he would never know the joy of having his own children. All that had changed, and quickly, when he met Meghan, the daughter of one of Starkhaven's ancient noble families. They tried for a long time to have children, and the Maker had seen fit to take several of them either before or shortly after birth, but at last he got his two boys—the heir and the spare—and the Vael family line was once again secure.

Sebastian was standing a few feet away from where Colum sat, trying his hardest to string the elegant weapon that his grandfather had used to vanquish the enemies of Starkhaven through the decades. He wasn't quite strong enough to do it yet, though. Since he had recently turned thirteen, those first hints of manhood had started to spring up across his body, but he hadn't quite gotten to the point where his scrawny, little-boy's body had started to grow taller, broader, stronger like his grandfather, father, and brothers.

 _Was it a mistake to tell the lad NOW he could have my bow when he could string it? Maker, I do believe I've created a monster._ Colum continued watching his grandson, trying to mask his amusement.

Sebastian knew he didn't have the upper body strength to string the bow conventionally, so he had the bow standing upright as he pressed his chest over it, leaning over and trying to let his body weight bend the bow enough so that he could hook the string. Unfortunately, he was trying to hook the string over the wrong end, which was making for a very awkward stance. Since he was still rather short, the longbow was as tall as he was, and it didn't take much for Sebastian to lose his balance. The tensed bow sprang back against him, knocking the boy onto his arse. Colum couldn't help it as he let out a hearty laugh; he remembered just how it felt to get bested by that longbow, so many years ago. His eyes, though dulling with age, danced mischieviously.

" _OWW_! Maker's balls!" Sebastian growled, rising slowly and rubbing his arse where it had hit the floor.

"SEBASTIAN! You watch your  _mouth_ , lad," Colum warned. He sat up straight and put his hands on his knees, ready to rise and discipline the boy if he didn't correct himself. Of all the things that Colum Vael tried to instill in his children and, now, his grandchildren, the most important was that the name of the Maker should never be taken in vain, that the honors due to Him should be considered first and foremost in all things. Colum Vael was a ruler, a man of the world, but never forgot that he was still just a humble servant of the Maker. His unshakeable faith had gotten him through some of Starkhaven's darkest days when he first rose to the throne, and he knew that if it had helped  _him_ , it would keep his sons and grandsons on the straight and narrow as well.

"Aye, sir," the boy mumbled, before remembering to stand up straight. He repeated himself, more clearly, and Colum smiled.  _Aye, Maker, I see so much of myself in this young lad…_

"What would sweet Andraste think of your talking about her Holy Husband's body parts like that?" Colum chided, his eyes boring into Sebastian's.

"I don't believe She'd appreciate it, Sir," Sebastian answered smartly, a slight crooked grin escaping despite his best efforts to remain stoic for his grandfather.

Sebastian's smirk didn't escape his grandfather, who shook his head lightly. Still, the boy had apologized, and recognized that he was in the wrong, so he would be spared further punishment. "Exactly, lad. Now go on; it's time for supper and your mother will have my head on a platter if you're late again."

"Aye, sir," Sebastian replied, bowing in respect before turning and leaving his grandfather's study.

Colum sat back again in his velvet-upholstered wingback chair, folding his hands and resting them on his slight potbelly. He smiled to himself as he thought about his youngest grandson. Colum Vael wasn't in denial; he knew that soon enough the boy would be swearing up a storm with his friends as they took those first tentative steps out of the realm of boys and into the world of men.  _It won't be too long,_  he figured,  _before this boy will be sneaking out and getting drunk, starting fights, and stealing kisses if he's as much like me as he seems to be._  He hoped, however, that he could hang on to his sweet grandson for just a little while longer. All Colum could do now was to shield Sebastian from his father's harsh disappointment and take him under-wing as if he was one of his own. It wasn't right, what his son Aidan was doing to the boy, how he treated him. Sebastian was a son—a  _VAEL_  son—and no grandson of his would be relegated to obscurity, not as long as breath still stirred his lungs.

He recalled that the midwives had assured his son and his daughter-in-law Andra throughout her pregnancy that the babe would be a  _girl_. It was the best possible news; his son had an heir and a spare already, and now the Maker was giving them a precious daughter that they could either use to forge an alliance through marriage or give over to the Chantry as all previous generations of Vaels had done before. When the tiny 5-pound baby with a head full of bronze hair emerged as a  _boy_ …well, there was disappointment that proved difficult for Aidan to hide. He didn't need—or want—a third son to potentially cause problems with the succession. He didn't have time to devote to a third son's education or training. But still, he was a  _boy_ , and boys were all-important in royal families. Aidan knew that all too well—knowing of his parents' troubles and having lost two of his own infants before, the latter claiming his first wife with childbed sickness. As a result, both Colum and Aidan hesitated to mark little Sebastian out for the Chantry life without seeing if there was anything special about that little wriggling bundle of joy who had taken a frighteningly long time to take his first breath.

Because he was a little early and thus a little small, Sebastian had always been a bit behind his brothers developmentally—which concerned his doctors—but had really started to make strides in the past two years. Colum wasn't fazed a bit; he had long noticed that Sebastian was quick and clever, yet patient and cautious. Those were the traits that would make him better suited to the bow and the dagger arts that he himself had been trained in, so Colum had reassured his son Aidan that he would train Sebastian personally.

Aidan, having feared for years that Sebastian would either be stunted or stupid or both, had agreed wholeheartedly with his father's suggestion; not only would it do good to have Sebastian trained in arts that suited his natural skills better, but it would also leave him free to devote himself full-time to Corbinian's sword training and political education. Gavin, Aidan's second son, was already becoming known as an impressive scholar but had little interest in the fighting arts; this left a void as it was typically the second son who led the army.  _Perhaps, just perhaps_ , Aidan thought,  _Sebastian could be tapped as General of the Starkhaven Militia if he grows strong enough. If not, then he goes to the Chantry instead of Hannah and I marry her off to Tantervale or maybe one of the nobles in Ferelden. Either way, I think I can finally find a use for him._

Thus, Colum Vael's intervention was the best thing that could have happened to Sebastian. He was young, sure, but wasn't blind to the stark difference in the way his father treated him as compared to Corbinian and Gavin, even his younger sisters Aileen and Hannah. Sebastian was the third son, the middle child, and was sadly aware that he was utterly unwanted. Colum had noticed that five, perhaps six, years ago that Sebastian had stopped talking much about his father, and when he did, it was not in the loving way that most sons speak of fathers. For such a young boy, he displayed a shocking lack of respect for Aidan. Aidan's wife, Andra, had also noticed this and approached Colum out of sheer desperation and motherly concern for her boy. She was perhaps the least disappointed of them all when she gave birth to this third son, and had always felt that he was worth just as much as any of her other babes, even the girls. Aidan, however, was steadfast in his refusal to give Sebastian the same level of education or attention as the two eldest boys.  _Third sons just simply were more trouble than they were worth,_  he had said. Colum and Andra were determined to prove him wrong.

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

Sebastian hustled quickly through the passage that linked his grandfather's residence, the main palace, to his family's estate immediately adjacent to it. As he walked, he pondered just how big, how dark the bruise on his backside would be, and how much it was going to hurt during riding lessons in the morning.

He ran into one of his grandmother's young handmaidens in his haste. The girl dropped the basket of clean linens that she carried, the clothes scattering about on the stony path. Both the girl and Sebastian immediately squatted down to start picking them up, carefully checking to make sure none had gotten dirty, refolding them neatly, and placing them back in the basket.

"I'm sorry, miss," Sebastian blurted. "I was lost in my thoughts."

"It's no trouble, Your Highness. I was in the way. It's completely my fault," the girl replied quickly, careful to not make eye contact with the highborn Prince.

"No, I insist, the fault was mine. What is your name? Are you hurt?"

"C-Colleen, Your Highness. And I'm fine, thank you," she responded, still careful to limit her interaction with the royal.

"What a lovely name," Sebastian murmured, giving the girl a slow, calculated smile. She gasped and turned a bright shade of pink, starting first on her cheeks, and then spreading down her neck and to the small portion of exposed chest her linen dress afforded him.  _Beautiful._

Until Colum had noticed Sebastian's roguish potential, the boy had spent most of his time with his mother, learning the ways of court life, honing his manners. Through observation of others, and some experimentation of his own, he had learned that he had the ability to make most women around him blush just with the right smile or look. It was  _irresistible_ —watching the pink bloom its way across pale skin—and he wanted nothing more than to make every woman he ever met do it for him,  _because of him_ , but he really didn't understand  _why_. It was a fun game to Sebastian, nothing more, but since he had turned thirteen, he was finding that this game was causing him to feel sensations in places and ways that he had not before.

Colleen placed the last of the linens into the basket and grabbed the handles, ready to get up and move along. Sebastian placed one hand gingerly on hers to stop the handmaiden. He took her hand and brought it to his lips, just as he had watched so many men do in court, but this was the first time he had felt bold enough to try it for himself. As his soft lips grazed her ivory knuckles, he felt a jolt of electricity that stirred his very core.  _Delicious._

"Again, I'm so very sorry, Colleen," Sebastian purred, his voice having unintentionally begun to sound so very different. "I do hope to see you again, miss."  _Ooh! She's blushing even more now! I think she liked it when I kissed her hand…hmm…_

The two youths went their separate ways; Colleen up to the palace and her duties at Meghan Vael's side, and Sebastian to the Crown Prince's residence for supper. All the way there, Sebastian couldn't get over how much it thrilled him to see Colleen blush even more after he kissed her knuckles. He couldn't figure out why he felt that rush, that stirring in his belly when his lips touched her skin…but he wanted to feel it  _again_.

He wanted to  _smile_  and  _wink_  and  _kiss_  her knuckles and make her  _blush_  again.

As his mind reeled with the potential of this newfound tool of charm, for the first time, Sebastian Vael found himself wondering just how much of the skin  _underneath her dress_  blushed the same way for him…and if he could get her to let him  _see_.


	2. Sweet Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW, loss of virginity

Several months had passed since the encounter with Colleen in the passageway between the palace and the Crown Prince's residence, and since that day Sebastian Vael had found no shortage of opportunities to use his newly-found hand-kiss charm on the ladies of the court. Even though the vast majority of them were much older—most being friends of his mother and grandmother—they found his burgeoning charm to be positively priceless. More than one had taken Andra aside to tell her all about how this unwanted third son was going to be the natural diplomat, the politician, the one who would be able to wine and dine and make deals for Starkhaven based on his ability to tear down a woman's defenses so easily at such a young age. He was a natural for the court, they were saying, and becoming quite the handsome young man to boot.

Indeed, the scrawny, undersized boy who was supposed to be a girl was acquiring the Vael physique more and more each day. He had grown three inches and gained nearly twenty pounds of muscle since the day his grandfather had made him a deal for his longbow. The promise of being given such a fine weapon had driven the boy to spend inordinate amounts of time training. Sebastian hadn't tried to string it for a month or two, but thought that he might try it today if there was time. But first, he had to meet up with his brothers.  _Curious…they never want anything to do with me..._

Corbinian and Gavin Vael were sitting in the eldest Vael son's room, waiting for Sebastian to meet with them. They had big plans for their little brother; someone had to step in since it was obvious that Father had no interest in his third son. Gavin checked himself in his older brother's full-length looking glass. He raked a hand through his short auburn hair. He turned to Corbinian with a sly grin on his face. "So what do you think we shall do to him first, Cor?"

Corbinian chuckled as he tried to choose which shirt to wear for the evening; the burgundy that set off his dark eyes, or the white that enhanced his tan.  _Or no shirt…won't be needin' one later tonight if all goes well anyway…_  "Well…I don't know about you…but I was thankful that Uncle Alec was with me the first time I got plastered…"

"Speaking of, where is Uncle? It doesn't feel right that he's not here. Say he's joining us later, brother…" Gavin's brows furrowed.

"He and Father had a horrible fight. Father warned him to stay out of the business of the Crown Prince or something like that. I think…I don't know. I highly doubt he'll be joining us for  _anything_  anytime soon." Corbinian shook his head, dark brown curls bouncing lightly. The face and physique were distinctly Vael, but the eldest son of Aidan had the dark hair and eyes of the boys' Ansburg-born mother.

"Father has been so angry lately," Gavin muttered.

"Tell me about it. I think he and Grandfather have been fighting a lot about Seb. Father's always wanted to put him in the Chantry, you know. I overheard him say that once. He wants Hannah to marry for an alliance."

"You're kidding, Cor. A Vael  _son_  in the Chantry? We're the Crown…our Princes aren't meant for chastity…" Gavin trailed off, a shudder escaping at the thought of never knowing the touch of a woman. A sudden wave of realization washed over him.  _That's  what tonight is for. Cor thinks Father's about to ship him off…that sly dog._

"Aye. You see now why tonight is so important, then," Corbinian mumbled. He selected the burgundy linen shirt and pulled it over his head, tucking it into his kilt.

The youngest of the Vael sons walked into the room. It was really shocking to see how much he changed in appearance, every single day. He approached, scratching at his chin, where the first shadow of fuzz was trying to emerge. "Greetings, brothers," Sebastian said, his voice breaking at the first syllable. His older brothers dissolved into a giggle fit, all-too-familiar with how frustrating a changing voice was. Corbinian looked up at Sebastian, whose ice-blue eyes were boring holes through him. His anger only made the eldest Vael laugh harder.

Gavin put a hand on each of his brothers' shoulders. "I think that's enough, Cor. We both remember how… _hard_ …it was going through this rubbish, don't we?"

Corbinian started laughing again.  _Hard…that's the worst part…constantly. Oh brother, you are a wordsmith._

Sebastian managed to swallow down his frustration at his voice's betrayal. "What are we doing today?" He braced himself. These days, he didn't know if his brothers were more likely to hug him or pull his trousers down. _It's only going to get worse once I'm allowed to start wearing a kilt…but I won't get to do that until I'm a man._

Both Gavin and Corbinian slapped him on the back stoutly. He stumbled forward from the sudden force of it.

"You, little brother," Corbinian said, recovering at last from his raucous fit, "are coming with  _us_  for the night."

"But…I was supposed to go see Grandfather," the boy stammered.

"He'll…understand.  _Trust us_ ," Gavin chuckled. "D'ya want your kilt or not?"

Sebastian stiffened.  _So that's what this is about._  "You know I do, Gavin. What do I have to do?"

"You'll see," Corbinian said, his dark brown eyes twinkling as he scanned his brother's appearance. "You sure you wanna wear that?"

"Uh…yes?" Sebastian looked down at his plain white linen shirt and dark gray wool trousers.

Corbinian looked at Gavin, who quickly left the room. He returned several minutes later with a selection of shirts, trousers, boots…and one kilt. "Take your pick, squirt," the middle brother said, gesturing toward the spread of finery.  _Just outgrew this stuff…might be a bit big on Sebby, but at least he'll look better than…that._

"A kilt, Gavin? Now? You sure about that?" Corbinian mocked.

"Aye. We'll make him earn it tonight… _if_  he's bold enough to put it on in the first place."

Corbinian turned to Sebastian. "What say you, Sebby? You bold enough?"

Sebastian glared at Corbinian and Gavin, strode over the bed where the clothes lay, and snatched up the kilt. He picked a matching shirt and started for the dressing screen.

"You know how to put one on, Sebastian?" Corbinian mocked. Gavin punched him in the arm, a warning to ease up on the boy.

"Of course. How hard is it to put on?"  _Oh. Uh…how do I get this to stay up while I fix the belt…where are the loops…shit._

Gavin stepped behind the screen when he realized that it was taking far too long to put on a kilt and shirt. He inspected Sebastian's progress and smiled.  _Not bad for the first shot,_ his expression read. He helped Sebastian fix the belt properly and stood back, observing his handiwork before leading his brother out.

Sebastian had gone behind that dressing screen a thirteen year old boy, but had come out looking every bit the Vael man that he was becoming. The Vael tartan was a dark gray, with navy blue and golden yellow forming the plaid. Sebastian's shirt was a blue that matched that of the kilt, which set off his coloring perfectly. His upper lip and chin were dappled with emerging fuzz. The only thing left to get under control was the unruly wavy mop of auburn hair on his head. Sebastian had tried to keep it short like Gavin, but quickly found that it was a total mess, so he was growing it out like Corbinian's. Corbinian dipped a broad finger into a jar of beeswax, warming up the daub of sticky goo in his hands before running it through his little brother's bronze locks. Then he ran a brush over Sebastian's head, slicking the hairs back. It enhanced his little brother's fine bone structure. _He really is a handsome little devil once he's cleaned up. Looks just like Grandfather._

"Now Seb…if you do your best to speak purposefully, and slowly, you'll find that you… _squeak_ …a bit less. You're…uh… _really_  gonna need to do that where we're going," Corbinian cautioned.  _Gavin will be sixteen next month…close enough to age...but Sebastian? Total wildcard._ "Y'know, on second thought…just let Gavin and I do the talking, okay?"

"Deal."

"Let's go."

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

Sebastian's mind was swimming as he slammed his empty tankard to the ale-soaked table.  _What is this, four…five mugs now? And how many shots of rum?_ His brothers had indeed gotten him fantastically drunk. The thirteen-year-old had only drank small ale—the table beverage of the evening meal—before this. Full-strength ale was a totally new experience. Corbinian and Gavin were impressed; neither could remember being able to knock back that much ale their first night drinking, let alone the shots of rum that Sebastian had tossed back like an old sailor. It was impressive…and  _scary_. They watched Sebastian finish his fifth ale and looked at each other.

"You figure he's ready, then?" Gavin whispered.

"Aye. We wait much longer and he's liable to pass out. As it is…the  _sail_  might not go to  _full-mast_. I didn't expect the little bugger to drink so bloody much. Went through damn near my whole week's allowance," Corbinian grumbled. "You got the gold for the wench?"

Gavin nodded. He motioned over to the bartender, who dispatched the young wench that had been serving their table exclusively all night.

The petite blonde with deep blue eyes sauntered over to their table with another round on her tray. She started setting down the drinks in front of the Vaels but Gavin stopped her when she tried to set another in front of Sebastian.

"Aye, lass…I think our brother here has had enough  _ale_. He's looking for... _other_  entertainment now," Gavin said, giving the wench a look.

The wench nodded and giggled as she wiggled a bit, flashing her cleavage in the youngest boy's direction, but he was a bit too drunk to notice. She frowned, unused to being ignored. "How old is he, anyway? I didn't wanna say anything when he came in…but he looks a bit young to be here," she whispered.

"He's old enough to wear the kilt," Gavin replied smoothly. "But aye, he is young."

"How young?"

"You'll be his first."

The wench's eyes flew open and she stared at Gavin. "Are you sure, m'lord?  _Me_?  _Here_?"

"Our Father speaks of giving him to the Chantry," the middle brother grumbled.

The wench's eyes softened as she understood the older boys' intent. She nodded quickly. "Two sovereign. That's for the  _whole_  night. He might need…a couple of rounds."

"Aye. I remember  _my_  first night. Two sovereigns is a fair deal. Pay her, Gav," Corbinian broke in as Gavin found the coin in his belt pouch, discreetly handing the gold to the wench. She smiled and approached Sebastian, who was resting his face in his hands, giggling. He had been lost in his own drunkenness while his older brothers were dealing away his virginity.

"Little lord?"

"Aye, and who're you?" Sebastian slurred. He tried to give that practiced smile that made women blush, but it was all wrong.

"Come wit' me," the wench said, gently leading the boy up the stairs to the lodging rooms.

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

Sebastian stumbled into the small room and he heard the door click shut behind him. He spun around to find the blonde wench from downstairs standing between him and the door. She tilted her head slightly and smiled as her fingers flew to the drawstring of her linen blouse, loosening the bow.

"D'ya even know why yer here, little Lord?"

Sebastian swallowed hard and looked around the room. It was sparse, dimly lit. There was a bed, and…a bed. A small nightstand. And a rickety wooden chair by the door. Nothing else. His head swam, but Sebastian didn't know if it was the ale or the sudden complete lack of air in the room. He could feel his knees start to shake and he willed them fiercely to stop. The weight of what his brothers had done started to press on Sebastian's shoulders.  _I'm gonna earn this kilt._  He didn't have much of a clue when it came to actual relations, but he figured he would start by employing those practiced charms that seemed to have such a wonderful effect on girls and women. He deliberately looked at the wench through his eyelashes, flashing a sly crooked grin as he strode over to her. He gently took the girl's hand, brushing his lips across her knuckles. The initial bloom of pink started to form across her nose and cheeks.

"I…have a very good guess, my Lady," he murmured, careful and slow to keep his voice from breaking.

"Indeed, you do…tell me, litle Lord; have you ever…done anything like this before?"

"Yes," Sebastian lied, his voice breaking right at the end. The wench tried to hide a soft chuckle.

"You're lying, little Lord. Your brother told me otherwise. It's alright. We all go through this sometime," she purred.

"Tell me something, lass," Sebastian mumbled.

"Anything."

"What is your name? I'd like to know what to shout out later." His voice broke at  _out_ but Sebastian tried to not acknowledge it as he peaked an eyebrow at the wench.

"Madeline," she said breathlessly, the promise of hearing him shout her name eliciting a shiver.

"That's a very lovely name, sweet lady," the boy growled, slowly, his brogue suddenly very thick. "May I…kiss you?"

"Of course, little Lord," Madeline whispered, leaning her head back to expose her throat.

Sebastian lunged forward, reaching out and cupping her cheeks. He moved to kiss her lips, but Madeline stopped him.

"I'm afraid I can't let you kiss me like  _that_ , little Lord. Don't kiss a gal on the lips if you don't love her," she said sternly.  _Something has to remain sacred for this boy, and kissin' is about the sweetest thing there is. I can't spoil that for him, link it with some tavern whore…_

Sebastian shrugged, a bit too drunk for Madeline's words to  _really_  sink in. He went for that slender throat that the wench had bared for him instead, pressing his lips to the ivory skin as his fingers ghosted the sides. It felt like velvet. Warm, sweet, rose-scented velvet. Instinct told him to keep kissing her neck lightly, and that's what he did. Madeline's soft sigh was a new reward; even better than that spark he got from blushing lasses. He felt the tension in his core start to twist tighter.

"Would you like to take your time? Play a bit, perhaps?" She asked softly.  _He's so very, very young…Maker, this is probably ten different kinds of sin._

"Aye, if that's alright with you," he murmured against her neck. He tentatively brought his hands down to the neckline of her blouse, to its undone bow.  _One of them paid her…so I can see…that delicious pink…Maker bless 'em._ He ran a finger between the laces and tugged them loose, looser, and finally the neckline was free enough that it started to slip down all on its own. He looked up at Madeline through his eyelashes, watching her semi-shut eyes flutter lightly as she patiently allowed him to do whatever he wanted with her.

"Beautiful," he whispered as his hands slowly, cautiously, slid the blouse the rest of the way off of Madeline's shoulders, exposing her breasts and the extent of her blushing, which spread across her entire chest. He lazily took a finger and traced where the undulating pink shade traveled across her exposed skin. The trail led him to one of her nipples; he drew his finger around it in a soft circle, watching the skin pucker beneath his digit. Madeline whined in need and Sebastian thought he might come undone at the sound of her. Growing bolder, he cupped that breast and lowered his mouth to it, finally taking the hard pink nipple in his mouth. Madeline surprised him by grabbing the back of his head, urging him on.

Sebastian soon found himself freely running his hands and mouth over Madeline's exposed skin, driven on by sighs, moans, whimpers. That tension in his core was nearly at a breaking point, far beyond anything he had ever felt before, even when he allowed his hands to wander late at night when his thoughts and dreams tormented him. He was impressed that he had even made it this far without spilling himself.

"I…I think you're ready now, little Lord," Madeline whimpered. "I know I am." She took his hand lightly and stepped around Sebastian, turning him so he could watch her shimmy the rest of the way out of her dress, leaving her only in smalls. She sat down on the foot of the bed and laid back, propping herself up on her elbows, crooking her finger at the boy.

He didn't need to be told twice what she meant. Sebastian shucked his blue shirt, tossing it to the floor. He approached Madeline, lust clouding his ice-blue eyes. He caged himself over her, lightly kissing her neck, down to her chest, belly…right to the waistband of her smalls. He glanced up at Madeline, who peaked an eyebrow as if to say  _I dare you._ Sebastian hooked his fingers in the waistband at each hip and pulled her smalls down, down, down, until they were thrown aside like his shirt had been. She was completely exposed to him now, and Sebastian Vael drank in the sight of this nude woman laying out for him. Her soft curves contrasted with his body's hard lines and it seemed that indeed, the Maker did make man and woman to fit together.

Madeline had brought her knees up after her smalls were gone and Sebastian ghosted his hand up her outer leg, ankle to knee to thigh and before he knew it, his small hand was slipping between those creamy gams, naturally seeking out her heated core.

"Ohhhh…" Madeline moaned, wanting to say the boy's name, but she found she didn't  _know_  it.

"Sebastian."

"My Lord?"

"My name is Sebastian. Sebastian Vael."

_Oh MAKER. This is the Crown Prince's youngest son, then…he's…what, twelve, thirteen? It's to the Void with me…_

"Say it. Say my name," the boy growled, interrupting Madeline's thoughts.

"Sebastian," Madeline moaned. Sebastian rewarded her by slipping one finger inside of her wet heat, then two, and finally a third.  _Corbinian said something to Gavin about fingers and girls and ohhhhhh…this feels nice._  Her squirming urged him to start moving his fingers in and out, slowly, purposefully, as he made mental notes of how she tensed and shivered and made all these wonderful noises and smelled so good and  _Maker, this cannot be the ale that's making me so drunk._  He withdrew his fingers from her, wanting more,  _more_ , but not quite sure how to seek it yet. Sebastian looked at his fingers, glistening with her, and brought them to his lips out of curiosity. Her musky natural scent made him dizzy and as his tongue flicked out and tasted his fingers, Sebastian was completely consumed by her taste.  _More._

Sebastian's fingers flew back to Madeline's folds, teasing, probing, paying attention to what made her moan, what made her whine, and what made her shiver. But her taste was still on his lips and he wondered if it would be just as good from the source itself. Sebastian allowed himself to slide down, kissing her knees…then the inside of her thighs…up, up,  _up_  until he was right  _there_. He looked up at Madeline through his eyelashes, his blue eyes so very dark with lust, and when she tugged at her lower lip with her teeth, that told Sebastian just how much she wanted him to taste her. With fingers still within her, Sebastian kissed lightly around her mound, around the curls, finding her pearl just waiting for him. He kissed it, and Madeline nearly jumped off of the bed from the sensation.

"You like that?" Sebastian whispered, his voice so husky that it sounded foreign to his own ears.

Madeline looked down at the bronze-haired boy between her legs. "Maker,  _yes_ , Sebastian. Keep going…" Her head lolled back.

He kissed lightly again, then allowed his tongue to flick gently for a few quick moments. She tensed so tightly around his fingers that he wasn't sure if he should keep going or not, but he got his answer soon enough.

"Don't…you… _dare_  stop, Sebastian…"

As good, as sweet as she tasted from his fingers, Madeline did indeed taste better at the source itself, Sebastian worked his tongue all over her, trying to drink his fill of her, driven on by all of the delightful sounds and the feel of her, and the smells, the sounds…just  _her_ …and while it was good, it wasn't that  _more_  that he still wanted.

"Madeline…sweet lady," Sebastian whispered, trying to steady his nerves. A brief thought as to what else he could slip inside of her crossed his mind and when white stars started to form around the edge of his vision he knew it was the thing he needed more than anything right now. The tension was becoming downright painful. At least there was little to restrict his cock; he knew that no Starkhaven man ever wore smalls under his kilt, and had happily left them behind at home. His hardness proudly stuck out, tenting the kilt. Sebastian looked down, saw his body's betrayal, and blushed slightly as he chuckled.

"I think your body knows what to do  _now_ , Sebastian," Madeline murmured. The dark sound of her voice coursed down his spine, sending a jolt straight into his core. He  _did_  know what to do, despite never really being told. His fingers flew to his belt, pulling it loose as he stood over Madeline, who watched him with dark, hungry eyes. Sebastian unhooked the small button on the inside of the waistband and let his kilt drop to the floor, leaving him in just his boots. Madeline sat up, inspecting his physique, eyes resting on his hardness.  _For just a boy…this is…impressive. I should have him come back around in a couple of years when he's more…grown._

"Maddie, I'm not sure I could handle your touch…" Sebastian groaned.  _I'm not sure I could handle my own touch right now without coming undone._

"No, I'm sure not." Madeline took his hand yet again as she laid back fully, spreading her legs and pulling Sebastian towards her. He could feel her heat nearly touching him, beckoning him to just go ahead and  _do it_.  _Take her._

So he did. He closed his eyes as he slid home, hilting himself in one quick move just to get it over with. Sebastian forced himself to remain perfectly still for several moments after, adjusting to the completely overwhelming feeling.  _Ohhhh…Andraste's flaming…I could just stay like this forever._ The intense tension in his core demanded otherwise; Sebastian found himself moving against Madeline, tentative at first, driven by pure, raw, intensifying need, growing surer with each stroke until that tension was about to break. Madeline, for her part, worked a hand between the two of them and pleasured herself, burying her face in the crook of Sebastian's neck and biting down as she peaked hard, quivering waves of ecstacy undulating through her to him. Everything beyond him, beyond this writhing woman underneath him simply disappeared as he broke at last— _Oh Madeline!_ —as waves of intense release crashing, spilling, as his vision shifted between black and white.

As they lay together, panting in the relief of their mutual release, Sebastian found himself so lost in the delicousness of drink and lust that everything going on back at home was just… _gone_. Desperate to maintain this feeling, Sebastian found himself wanting  _more_.  _Again_. It wasn't long before he was ready for round two…then round  _three_ …and after that Madeline simply said that she had had enough and kicked him out. As he stumbled out of the room, Sebastian found himself wondering how long this escape from his home life could last.  _Maker, please never make it stop…_

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

"How much y'wanna bet he lasted about thirty seconds?" Corbinian slurred, taking another long pull of his ale. He was still pouting as Gavin refused to let him get a wench for himself.  _It's Seb's night, not yours, Cor, you selfish prig._

"I'm gonna give the little bugger some credit. You seen what he's got in his smalls? I got a look when I helped with his kilt. I bet he lasted…two minutes." Gavin shuddered, recalling that his little brother, despite his age and size, had quite obviously been blessed in other ways.

"Y'wanna wager? Closest one wins." Corbinian was drunk. Very, very drunk.  _Bloody twat's gonna make bets when shitfaced? I'll take that bet._

"What's the loser have to do?" Gavin asked.

"Tell Father."

Gavin shuddered; this wouldn't remain a secret for long and Aidan was no dummy. Admitting complicity in getting their little brother drunk and laid, with Father intent on sending the boy to the Chantry?  _Suicide_.

"You're on," Gavin clunked his mug against Corbinian's and drained it.

They didn't have to wait long. Sebastian had been gone for about an hour and a half already, and about twenty minutes after his brothers made their wager, the youngest Vael son wobbled his way down the stairs, alone, adjusting his belt. His face was flush, hair disheveled, and a purpling bite mark was emerging on the side of his neck. Sebastian smiled to himself, a faraway look on his face, as he returned to his brothers and sat down.

Corbinian and Gavin exchanged a glance and grinned.

Madeline made her way back down several minutes later, freshly made-up. Gavin got up and approached her at the bar, dropping his voice just for her.

"So…"

"The deed is done, m'Lord. And  _how_. He's a natural. Too bad about the Chantry."  _Or maybe it's a good thing for all the lasses in Starkhaven to have a little tiger like him locked away._

"I know this might seem a bit odd…but how long…"

"Wagered on how long your little brother lasted his first time? I'd say about 2 minutes, actually. The second and third times were a bit longer. Like I said…a  _natural_." Madeline smiled shyly, blushing.

Gavin's eyes widened, and he nodded and thanked the wench before returning to the table, a triumphant grin eating up his face. Corbinian rolled his eyes.

"Let's get him home. He's gonna be hurtin' in the morning," the eldest Vael growled.  _I am NOT looking forward to seeing Father tomorrow._


	3. Hair o' the Dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Aidan has anger management issues. Might be triggering for those sensitive to abuse themes.

_Holy Maker,_ Sebastian thought when he first opened his eyes the next morning. The light that flooded his bedchamber seemed as intense as fire, the heat of it uncomfortably prickly. His eyes throbbed, and his mouth felt as though it were full of wool. And the taste in his mouth?  _Horrifying_. He rubbed at his bleary eyes and scrubbed his hands across his face vigorously, trying desperately to wake up more. His cheeks were rough; the decision to stop trying to shave having its natural effect. As his fingers passed by his nose, he was caught unaware by a certain lingering… _scent_ …on them, and in a flash everything that had happened the night before came crashing back into his mind. The pounding in his head seemed to be just a bit less intense, and he smiled weakly as he started to scheme ways to get drunk and have sex again.

His bedchamber door came crashing open without warning, and his older brother Gavin strode in confidently. "Good morn, little brother," he boomed. Sebastian winced. Gavin grinned. "How do you feel, this fine day?" Sebastian wasn't sure how he managed to do it, but his brother had gotten even louder. He grumbled something unintelligible, and Gavin finished approaching the bed where Sebastian lay, still dressed from the night before. Corbinian and Gavin only had time to help him out of his boots before they scurried away, convinced that they were about to be caught by guards.

Gavin inspected his little brother, who looked more mature today. He wasn't sure if he could chalk that up to natural processes or the fact that he got laid three times last night. Maybe it was the fact that today was his fourteenth Name Day. At any rate, he would have to help the little guy try to recover enough to be functional. To that end, Gavin was already prepared. He produced a small flask from the inside of her jerkin and handed it to Sebastian.

"Here. Need some hair o' the dog, you do. Drink it. Blessed Name Day, Brother."

Sebastian opened the flask and his nose was assaulted by the strength of the liquor. "What…is this," he asked, turning his nose away. The smell of alcohol made his stomach churn. It didn't smell anything like the rum that he had been plied with last night.

"It's…something that one of the stablehands brews from his corn," Gavin replied. "Seriously, Seb, drink it. Trust me."

"Like I trusted you last night? Maker's breath, what did you guys do?"

"Turned you into a man, since it seems that Father wasn't going to. You're our little brother, Seb, even though Father seems bent to make you feel like you're not a Vael," Gavin muttered, looking away.  _You needed that, before Father sends you away...it's not right._

Sebastian didn't miss Gavin's somber face and change in tone. "What's the matter, Gavin? Is something going on?"

Gavin thought back to the night before, to his conversation with Corbinian while Sebastian was upstairs with the wench.  _We can't tell him, Gavin,_ he recalled Corbinian saying,  _he's liable to do something stupid._ And so it was agreed, they wouldn't tell Sebastian. They would get him good and drunk, and let him lay with a woman, and he could at least go to the Chantry having known something good of being a man…of being a Vael.

"No, we just…didn't like that Father ignores you. You're as much a Vael as us, and it's not right. Now, are you going to drink that flask or am I going to have to sit on you and pour it down your gullet?"

Sebastian winced, plugged his nose, and drained the flask. The intense burn of the nearly pure alcohol caused him to cough. Gavin gave him a weak smile and took the flask back, tucking it in his jerkin again.  _Oh Maker, that was…wait…hey…I feel…better?_ Sebastian flung the coverlet off of him and noticed that he was wearing a kilt. He shook his head slowly and smiled.

"Better?" Gavin asked. Sebastian nodded and finished getting out of bed. He stepped over to his dressing screen and shucked his tavern-scented clothes, feeling instantly more energized. He poured out some water into his wash basin, grabbed a sponge, and washed up quickly.

"Oh, hey, by the way…I got you one of your own," Gavin said, walking over and tossing a kilt over Sebastian's screen. "Figured you'd probably want to wear one all the time now, eh?"

Sebastian chuckled to himself as he pulled on a crisp white linen shirt and his new kilt, followed by woolen stockings and his soft grey leather boots. He looked in the mirror, opting to not shave away the emerging scruff, and ran his hands through his still-waxed hair. Satisfied, he stepped out and left with Gavin for their riding lesson.

Corbinian shook his head as his two younger brothers approached, especially at Sebastian's boldness in wearing a kilt for riding.  _Can't really blame the little guy; I tried to wear my kilt for a week straight after I earned it. He'll learn…_  "You feeling alright, Sebby," he teased.

"Aye, never better," the youngest of the boys replied confidently as he attempted to mount his horse. Sebastian got one foot in the stirrup and paused, considering for a moment how riding in a kilt with no smalls was going to work.  _Ah, I'll just…er…tuck…once I get on him, I guess._  He pulled himself up and flung the other leg over his horse's back and made sure his kilt fell properly underneath him. Sebastian sat, reached up underneath the kilt to pull his  _equipment_  forward, and settled into the saddle. Corbinian and Gavin watched their brother, impressed that he figured out how to tweak things just so in order to sit properly.

The placement of his twig and berries was the least problem Sebastian would have. In his rush, he had neglected to eat anything, and several pints of ale and shots of rum—not to mention that flask of corn whisky Gavin forced him to drink—were starting to threaten a second showing. Just when Sebastian thought he wasn't going to be able to ride any further, Colum and Aidan Vael showed up to watch the boys' progress. Aidan noticed Sebastian's kilt immediately, shooting a glare at his father. Colum shrugged. He had no idea what had transpired last night; all he knew was that the boy was supposed to come for his archery lesson, but Corbinian said that he and Gavin wanted to spend the evening with their little brother.  _Aye, I hope they didn't get the lad into too much trouble. He's still a bit young for it._

The boys brought their steeds to where the elder men sat, making sure to sit as properly as they could for the inspection. "You may dismount," Aidan boomed. "Lead your rides back to the stables yourselves…do not hand them off to the hands. A man must know how to dress his horse properly in all respects. You never know when you might find yourself in a position to have to do everything on your own." He watched his sons dismount, curious as to who taught Sebastian how to conduct himself in a kilt…and who gave him permission to wear it in the first place. Aidan Vael had prided himself on judging when his two older sons were ready for the kilt, and had seen to give it to them personally.  _This boy shouldn't be wearing the kilt, not when I didn't give it…and not when I never intended to give it. _He stewed at this, but decided to not make a scene for now.

Sebastian's feet hit the dirt, and he was grateful for it. His stomach was churning hard now, and he wasn't sure he would make it all the way back to the stable, let alone back into the house and into the kitchen, without getting sick. He made it about fifty feet away from where his grandfather and father sat before his stomach called it quits. Sebastian had been sick before, thrown up plenty, but it was nothing like this. As horrid as the ale had tasted on the way down, it was a  _thousand_  times worse on the way back up. He was retching hard enough to make it feel as though his eyeballs were going to pop out of his skull.

As the elder Vael's witnessed Sebastian's falling ill, they stopped whatever they had been talking about and ran to him, calling for one of the servants to fetch a nurse. When Aidan got within five feet of his youngest son, however, it was clear from the smell of the boy's sick that he wasn't ill at all…just hungover. As he watched Sebastian, the boy's shirt fell over just enough to see a purple bruise at the crook of his neck. Aidan's eyes flew to his older sons, who stood frozen with fear as they realized that their father had pieced together what was going on.

The servant arrived with the nurse, and Aidan instructed them to take Sebastian up to his room. "Go back, Father," he growled. "I'll speak more of this with you later. For now…I have sons who need to confess some very egregious sins." Colum Vael looked at his grandsons and shook his head, but it wasn't clear to the boys whether their grandfather was disappointed or impressed as he walked away.

And then it was just Aidan Vael, locked into a staring contest with his two oldest sons Corbinian and Gavin. The silence and tension were thick enough to cut with a knife. Gavin elbowed Corbinian; he had, after all, lost the wager last night. Corbinian cleared his throat. "Father, I can…"

"Shut.  _UP_." Aidan growled, his ice-blue eyes narrowed on his eldest. "Did I ask you to speak, boy?"

"No, sir."

"Do you think that I am stupid, then?"

"No, sir?"

"I come out to watch my boys ride. I see my youngest in a bloody KILT. Then he throws up pure ale. And THEN I see a hickey on his neck…" Aidan trailed off.

Gavin seized the opportunity to break in. "Father, it's his Name Day. We just…"

Aidan backhanded Gavin, sending him flying to the ground. Corbinian's eyes flew wide open and he looked at his father with mouth slightly agape.

"D'you care to ignore me, Corbinian? D'you want to talk back like Gavin?" Corbinian shook his dark curls slowly. "No? Good. He's a scholar, but he doesn't have a lick of common sense in that head of his. I'm glad you are sensible. Now…is there any reason why you and your brother saw fit to spoil Sebastian? To give him a kilt behind my back? Answer  _smartly_ , boy," Aidan warned.

"Sir, we…" Corbinian started.  _Full disclosure, Cor…full disclosure._ "I heard that Sebastian was bound for the Chantry. It was my idea. I felt bad thinking that he'd never know some of life's pleasures like the touch of a woman, and it's his Name Day…so we got him a little present. I'm sorry, sir."

The words no sooner escaped Corbinian's lips than Aidan Vael's fist met his mouth, knocking his eldest son to the ground beside Gavin. "You listen up, you two, and you listen good. Sebastian's fate is none of your business. He's  _my_  son, not yours, and I will do with him as I please. Consider this your only warning; do not do anything like this ever again. Have I made myself clear?"

Corbinian and Gavin, having propped themselves up on elbows but not daring to rise further, nodded their understanding. Aidan spun and stomped off, leaving his two eldest rubbing their jaws and fearing for their little brother more than ever.

Aidan didn't go to see Sebastian. Rather, he stormed into his father's study, where he found Colum sitting back, enjoying a glass of scotch. "Well, it's good to see you aren't overly concerned, Father. Acting like it's every day that a thirteen year old lad gets drunk and laid thanks to his stupid brothers…he's too young, and now he's  _spoiled_. I can't give him over to the Chantry now," he growled.

Colum tried to hide the tiny sense of victory that sparked within. It was a hollow victory, if one could be claimed at all, since the Chantry would still take a boy like Sebastian if he was young enough. He could still renounce his ways and take vows up until his 18th Name Day and be treated as if he had always been chaste.

"Tell me you weren't in on this, Father," Aidan barked. "Tell me you didn't tell Corbinian of my plans and beg him to corrupt his little brother!"

The old man shook his head, but his dulling blue eyes danced mischieviously. "I neither did nor said any such thing to your boys, Son, though I cannot deny that I'm pleased with how they acted."

"WHAT?" Aidan's eyes blazed and his face grew red with anger.

Colum rose from his chair, crossing over to Aidan and putting his index finger on his son's chest. "You have ignored your youngest since he was born, Aidan," Colum hissed. "It's his bloody Name Day, did you even remember that? That boy's  _only_  crime was being born with a damned pair of balls. He's a son. He's a Prince! What if something were to happen…"

"Shut up, Father," Aidan growled.

Colum slapped him. "Don't you interrupt me again,  _son_. You may be grown and have sons of your own, but you are still a son yourself and you will  _mind_   _your manners_. With regard to Sebastian…if something were to happen to one of your older boys…or Maker  _forbid_  it, if Starkhaven were to need soldiers…we need Sebastian to stay here, at the ready. We can't ship him off to the Chantry where he'll be wrapped up in robes and vows and duties that can't be shirked. Send Hannah. She's the youngest, and a girl. That's who we traditionally send…the youngest girls. Not a boy who is showing promise with the bow."

Aidan rubbed his stinging cheek. "He's…skilled with the bow?"

Colum folded his arms across his chest, tilting his head defiantly. "Aye. He can nearly string  _my_  bow. Once he does and can pull it properly, I'm giving it to him."

"The Starkhaven Longbow. The one that's been passed down across generations…to  _him_?" Aidan asked in disbelief.

"You have spent so much energy ignoring the lad that you don't see he's growing up right before you! He's got excellent aim, and he's becoming quite good at fletching his very own arrows. For fourteen, I'm surprised that he's able to focus on such things. And he's  _smart_ , Aidan. Charming. He's got a way with people that is…downright unnerving. He's got the best qualities of Corbinian and Gavin. He'd be a fine Vael Prince, son…if you'd only  _let_  him be."

Aidan felt a twinge of guilt as he considered his father's words.  _He's right. I have ignored Sebastian completely. And to what end? I forget his Name Day. My sons see that he's ready to be a man before I do. My father trains him. He tastes ale and knows women and I don't even see beyond that he was supposed to be a girl. I've got my girls now…perhaps I should try to get to know my boy._

"I…You have made some excellent points, Father. I will take my leave…I have a lot of thinking and praying to do." Aidan spun sharply and started to walk away.

"I should say so, Aidan. I should say so." Colum said quietly, smiling as his son walked out of his study.  _Perhaps there is hope for Sebastian yet._

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

"Sebastian?" The boy froze at the sound of his father's voice behind him. Since he had thrown up all over the riding ring this morning, Sebastian had tried to do his best to maintain a low profile. He had been in his room now for a couple of hours, practicing his penmanship skills.  _I don't want to turn around…_

"Father? To what do I owe this privilege?" Sebastian asked, trying to act like the morning's events never happened.

"You know why I'm here, lad," Aidan said softly. "We need to talk." Father and son shared a mutual sigh, which Aidan smiled wanly at. "I know it was Corbinian and Gavin that took you out, and the rest I've pretty much figured out on my own. I mean…a kilt…being hungover…and that…" Aidan said, pointing to the bruise on Sebastian's neck, "well, it didn't take a pack of scholars to put it all together." Sebastian was completely taken aback by the tone in his father's voice; for sure he had thought his father would have murdered him already.

"Aye, sir," Sebastian whispered, head hung low.

Aidan put a hand on his son's shoulder. "You…had a pretty eventful night, it seems. Is there anything you'd like to talk about? Ask me?"

 _I've got a million questions to ask…but I'm not comfortable asking you._ "No, sir," Sebastian lied. "It is what it is. Can I…still wear the kilt? It's rather comfortable."

Aidan looked over his son, who had gone from wee lad to grown man seemingly overnight.  _The physique, the facial stubble, the voice…fourteen years had simply flown by when he wasn't looking._  He nodded and smiled. "Aye, lad. You're a man now. Men wear the kilt."

"Thank you, Father," Sebastian said, smiling and putting pen to paper again.

Aidan took this as his cue to leave on a good note and walked away. "By the way, Sebastian…blessed Name Day to you." He was gone before Sebastian could acknowledge him.

Sebastian scribbled a furious doodle on his paper.  _Who does he think he is? It took that to get his attention at last? I get no love, no tenderness until I get bloody shitfaced and make an ass of myself? He can go fuck off, for all I care,_ Sebastian thought, but he was only lying to himself.


	4. The Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See end for notes.

**_Just over one year later…_ **

Sebastian staggered his way through the underground passage leading from the brothel to his grandfather's palace, taking a pull from his bottle of rum. He hummed a dirty tune, one that his whore for the evening had taught him. He had nearly convinced the tavern wench, Madeline, to join him at the brothel, but she had shied away at the last moment. It had been a grand night, he had snuck out without a trace and made his way into the tavern without being unduly questioned as to his age. The only trouble now was that he was having trouble recalling parts of the night.  _Too much rum. I'm gonna feel like shit in the…er…in an hour or so when Cor wakes me up._  Sebastian tried his best to hustle now; the sun was bound to come up soon, and he had to make sure he was not only in his bed, but convincingly so when Corbinian came to wake him. The rum coursing its way through his system, however, had other ideas.  _Oh, that little corner there looks so comfortable. Surely I can sit down for a few moments; I'm almost at the junction where the tunnel splits off to our house. Just a few minutes, to catch my breath and get my head right because I'm so very dizzy and things are kinda spinning and…_

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

Corbinian knocked on the door to Sebastian's room as a courtesy before barging in.  _Stupid tit, he knew we were supposed to be up early for the hunt._ He marched over to the bed, noticing on his approach that it was perfectly made.  _Um…the maidservants don't make their rounds until about nine…that means…_

"Gavin!" Corbinian was in a near panic, and his voice certainly reflected it.

Gavin, whose bedchamber was between Corbinian's and Sebastian's, heard his older brother's shout and finished pulling on his tunic. His heart pounded its way up into his chest as he scrambled for the pass-through door leading to Sebastian's room. When he entered, he saw Corbinian standing at Sebastian's bed, holding one of the decorative pillows, looking at it with puzzled eyes.

"Cor? Where's Seb?" Gavin didn't really want to know the answer. Somehow, deep down, he had the feeling that his baby brother was gone. Whether that meant he had been kidnapped or run away, he couldn't say. But in his seventeen years, Gavin Vael had been absolutely certain of little else.  _My baby brother, sweet Sebastian, is gone._

Corbinian shrugged his shoulders, still holding the pillow, still looking down. "I…I don't know. His bed hasn't been slept in. Did he mention anything to you? Maker…you don't think…"

 _Okay. Breathe, Gavin. There has to be a rational explanation. You're the smart one. Think it through._ "He ran away? No. I don't think he would have. Do you think he might have snuck out?"

"I guess it's a possibility." Corbinian plopped down on the edge of Sebastian's bed, still in shock at his brother not being there.

"Then he might have passed out somewhere." Gavin took a deep breath.  _We have to start looking._

Corbinian threw the pillow to the floor in frustration. "But where? We have to find him, Gavin. We have to get him to the hunt or else Father will go berserk."

 _If you had just turned fifteen and were gaining the reputation as a rake, where would you be?_ "We could start at the tavern, I suppose. Perhaps the brothel?"

Corbinian chuckled nervously. "Who'd have known we would awaken such a little hellion? Hurry up, let's go."

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

"Aidan, we've been waiting on those sons of yours for nearly an hour. Don't you have servants who are paid to wake their arses up in the morning? The best hunting is long gone, for sure," Lord Heatherton growled as he paced.  _The hounds are getting too restless; they won't be able to focus now._

Aidan Vael sat on his horse, glaring out towards where his father stood. He turned to look behind him, not because he thought his sons might actually be arriving, but because by now it was a habit. "I assure you, Willem, all three will get the damned strap after we're done here. This is inexcusable."

Colum Vael stood apart from the rest of the hunters, overlooking the Minanter River, silent. He was deep in thought.  _Something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong._

Aidan didn't like how distant his father was this morning. He dismounted, handed his reins to one of the stable hands, and approached him. "Father? Are you alright?"

Colum glanced over his shoulder. "Fine, Aidan. Just thinking. It is strange that all three are so late. You don't think something is going on?"

 _The old man just gets more and more paranoid in his old age._ "What, like another conspiracy, another kidnapping attempt? I don't think so. I think I just have three worthless sacks of horseshit for sons. And _Sebastian_? No archery lessons for a week. If he's not here within ten minutes, make it a month."

The elder Vael turned to face his son now, his graying eyes filled with concern. "Aidan, be reasonable, son. I'm sure there's a perfectly logical explanation for all of this."  _And I bet he would have finally been able to pull my bow at tomorrow's lesson, too. Damn foolish boy._

Just then Corbinian and Gavin rode up, sour-faced, slow and quiet. They simultaneously slipped off of their horses and approached, looking down the whole time.

"It's about damned time," Aidan snarled as he left his father standing on the riverbank to lambast his sons. "Where's Sebastian? I thought he wanted to prove himself a competent hunter?"  _Why do I keep listening to my father? I should have shipped him off to the Chantry last year._

Gavin and Corbinian shot each other a look. Corbinian had to 'fess up to getting Sebastian drunk for the first time. It was Gavin's turn to tell Father than their little brother was missing.

"Father, we—" Gavin muttered, eyes still affixed to the ground.  _Hey, that's an interesting looking leaf. And that pebble! I think I'll just look at the ground all day. Yes. Good plan._

"He's gone, isn't he?" Colum asked, having approached suddenly.

Gavin was rattled from his gaze by the worried tone to his grandfather's voice. "Sir?"

Colum continued, voice low and quick. "I've had a funny feeling all morning. He's gone, and you can't find him, right?"

"Yes…sir," Corbinian whispered, head still hung low.

Colum grabbed Corbinian's arm, pulling him aside, leaving Gavin to deal with their very angry father. "Did you check the underground passages," he whispered.

"Yessir," Corbinian replied. "He wasn't in any of them."

"Did you check with the servants?"

"Ours…"

"Check with mine. Specifically, check with Colleen. I think Sebastian's sweet on her."

"Yessir," Corbinian mumbled as Colum released him. He returned to Gavin and they mounted their horses, taking up a hunt all their own.

"Boys!"

Both turned back to face their father, who was stone-faced.

"We are leaving for the hunt now. Do not bother coming home until you find him. Have I made myself clear?"

"Crystal, sir," Gavin said crisply as he nudged his stallion into motion again. He looked at Corbinian and they left for the palace to question their grandmother's handmaiden.

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

A soft voice broke through Sebastian's liquor-induced haze. "Would you like some water, Sebastian?"

Sebastian opened his eyes just enough to locate the source of that sweet sound. It was, of course, his favorite handmaiden. "Please, Colleen," he mumbled as he turned onto his side, propping himself up on an elbow just as Colleen handed him a cup.  _Maker, my head hurts. How did I end up here? Last thing I remember is walking in the tunnels and…oh. I must have passed out? Och! What is that burning…OWW. Oh sonuva…that whore must have given me something. Dammit. Gotta sneak more of that salve out of Father's desk when I get the chance._

Sebastian chugged the cup of water as though he hadn't had anything to drink in days. Colleen refilled the cup, over and over, until he had drunk his fill. He sat up, scrubbing at his bleary eyes and raking his hair back with his fingers. He cast a sidelong glance at his impromptu nurse. She was growing more beautiful every time he saw her. Her raven hair, icy gray eyes, and pale skin had always been striking but now that she was starting to develop those womanly curves, Sebastian found himself even more attracted to her than he had been during that fateful meeting in the tunnels so long ago.  _What is she, a year or so older than me?_

"Oh, Sebastian, what did you get into last night? You smell horrid…you know, I don't wanna know," Colleen muttered as she grabbed her washing pitcher and stepped out of the room momentarily to fill it.  _He smells like leafsmoke, sweat, stale ale, and cheap perfume…eww._

As she left, Sebastian couldn't help but glue his eyes to her gently swaying hips. His mind instantly started to wonder what she looked like underneath her plain dress, how that luscious milky flesh would look under his tanned hands, how her mouth would feel around his…he let out his breath in a low hiss as his nether regions started to burn again at the thought of her touch, or any contact for that matter.  _OWW…not that. Not until I get my hands on that salve. Damn that slut straight to the Void for whatever she gave me!_

Colleen returned and filled the wash basin, then gestured for Sebastian to wash up. She started for the door, not wanting to risk getting caught in the same room with a half-naked royal.  _The lad already has quite the reputation. If I ever hope to marry well enough to not have to serve the Vaels, I have to keep my name absolutely unblemished. _But before she was able to get out of the room, Sebastian had already stripped off his tunic and Colleen got a good glimpse at his rapidly-maturing frame. She blushed slightly at the sight of him, his broadening shoulders contrasting with a narrowed waist, muscles defined that she didn't even know existed thanks to his rigorous archery training.

Sebastian looked up just in time to see her quickly avert her gaze. He turned his head and smirked a bit, reveling in the attention as he stepped behind the screen. "Like what you see, lass?" He asked cheekily.

All he got in return was a slight gasp, the rustling of skirts, and a quick opening-and-shutting of the door.

A couple of minutes later, just as Sebastian finished washing up, there was a pounding on the door. "Colleen!"  _Corbinian? What is he doing here?_  Sebastian then heard muffled talking outside the door, two male and one female voice.  _She must be talking to them._ The door burst open unceremoniously and his brothers stormed in. Sebastian stepped out from behind the screen, still shirtless.

"What the fuck are you doing, Seb?" Corbinian hissed as he got in his younger brother's face.  _He's almost as tall as me now…it's not so easy to intimidate him with size anymore._  "Do you know that you were supposed to be in  _your_  room last night? How did you end up here? Have we moved on to fucking our way through the ranks of our  _grandparents'_  servants now?"

"Your Highness, I can explain," Colleen mumbled. "I was passing through the underground corridors to the market and I found Sebastian there. He was…passed out. So I helped him here so he could at least clean up a bit before going home. I didn't know he was due anywhere, I'm sorry." She gave a slight curtsy.

Corbinian leaned into Sebastian, snarling in his ear. "You were… _passed out_? Where in the Maker's name did you go last night? How did you manage to get out of the apartments without one of us waking?"

Sebastian shrugged coolly, no longer afraid of his brother like he used to be. "I went  _out_. Does it matter where I went or how I got there? I intended to be home by dawn…just got a little sidetracked, that's all."

Gavin now approached. "Seb, what has gotten into you lately?"

Sebastian turned from Corbinian, smirking at his other brother now. "You mean besides rum and whores?"

Colleen gasped again and ducked out of the room.  _I don't want to be privy to this._

Gavin was shocked at Sebastian's attitude.  _Maker, what is wrong with him? He's like a man possessed!_ "We're all going to get the strap, you know. Father led the hunt out without us. You'll be lucky to keep your arse out of the Chantry this time."

Sebastian broke away from his brothers, grabbing his shirt and pulling it over his head roughly. "He can try to put me there, sure. And he will fail."

Corbinian tilted his head as he watched his brother dress.  _What would he do if Father did indeed try?_ "Sebastian. Be reasonable. Apologize sincerely. Try to do better.  _Please_? Gavin and I have put our arses on the line for you over and over. Don't make it be in vain."

Sebastian rolled his eyes. "Fine. I'll do my part, I'll play the game."

Corbinian grabbed his arm, dragging him out of the handmaiden's room. "Thank you. Now come on, let's go. We have to concoct a story for Father."

Sebastian guffawed. "Story? Like hell. I'm telling him the  _truth_." He grinned, proud of himself and his semi-successful escape the night before.  _It'd have been perfect had I not passed out._

Gavin growled sarcastically. "That you snuck out, got drunk, slept with a whore, and passed out in the underground? That's bloody  _brilliant_ , Seb."

Sebastian flashed an impish grin again at the thought of his father's reaction. "Aye."

Gavin punched him in the gut, hard. "Wrong answer, little brother. Try again."

"Okay, okay. I got lost in the tunnels…on my way back from the brothel?" Sebastian giggled lightly.

Gavin intended to punch Sebastian again, but Corbinian gave him a stern look. "Seb, you promised. Please take it seriously," the eldest pleaded quietly.

"Fine," Sebastian grumbled. "What do you want me to tell him?"

Corbinian whispered in his ear as he led Sebastian out of the servants' apartments and into the underground corridor leading to their residence. "You weren't feeling well in the wee hours of the morning. You tried to go to the clinic by yourself but fell faint in the tunnels. Colleen found you and brought you here because it was the closest place she could. Do you think you can manage to stick to that story, Sebastian?"

"Aye, I'm no idiot." Sebastian wrenched his arm away from Corbinian, quite confident that he could manage walking.

Gavin scanned the tunnels, making sure they wouldn't run into anyone who might overhear their concocted story. "You're proving to be one," he muttered under his breath. "We're serious, Seb. You need to straighten up. Grandfather isn't going to be around forever, you know. And once he's gone? There's  _nothing_  stopping Father from shipping you to Val Royeaux."

They emerged from the tunnel, exiting via the hidden door in the larder. There was a loud commotion in the distance, perhaps coming from the Great Hall based on the direction it was coming from. Corbinian and Gavin shot each other looks and Gavin dared to venture forward. He left his brothers in the larder while he assessed the nature of the ruckus. As he coursed his way through the hallways, he tugged on his sword to loosen it in the scabbard…just in case. Gavin was nearly at the Great Hall when he ran smack into a couple of girls from the laundry, who were rushing away from the chaos.

"Ladies, ladies! Whatever is the matter? What is all that fuss?"

"Oh, Your Highness…it's the Prince! They say he fell from his horse during the hunt! He's not waking up!"

Gavin ran back to his brothers. "Grandfather fell. We must go to him at once!"

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

**_Three days later:_ **

The myriad of voices swirled in Aidan Vael's mind, a cacophany of the past three days' events:  _Not sure what happened...He was fine one minute, the next he was on the ground…Did he clutch his chest or anything?...No, just fell…No blood…The healers don't know what's wrong…He's not waking up…Aidan, are you prepared to make the decision?_

"As ready as I'll ever be," Aidan replied shakily to nobody, simply answering the voices in his head. He stared at his father, once so majestic, so strong, laid out on the bed. Motionless. Unconscious. Suddenly appearing every bit his 75 years and now all but dead. "Give him the milk of poppy," he whispered to the Court Healer.

The herbalist mixed the concoction, equal parts clear and green, until they formed a cloudy greenish libation. He added a sugar cube to make the drink more palatable. He handed the glass to Aidan, who held it to his father's lips. Colum Vael, unconscious as he was, parted his lips slightly as the cool glass touched them, his faint breath fogging the container.

"Maker, preserve me despite what I must do…" Aidan's hands shook as the first drops of the liquid urged over the lip of the glass and into his father's mouth. It was surprisingly easy to administer the overdose, as if the old man knew that his time in this realm was over. Once the sedative had been administered, his breathing grew ever more slow, more shallow, until at last a faint gasp and a lolling of his head heralded his death. Colum Vael had ceased to be. Aidan Vael was the new Prince of Starkhaven. Corbinian was now the Crown Prince. And just like that, the fortunes of fifteen-year-old Sebastian had changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, if you're curious...Colum had a massive stroke.


	5. It's Automatic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The loss of his Grandda hits Sebastian hard.

**_One month later:_ **

Sebastian stared at the garden's large marble fountain, the trickling water proving quite mesmerizing to his drink-addled mind. He took another swig from his flask before tucking it inside his jerkin.  _Last one. The last night of this official mourning period bullshit. Then the new reality hits. Fuck. Me._

The Starkhaven tradition called for a full month of state-wide mourning after the death of a Prince. Colum's widow, Meghan, was now the Dowager Princess and bound to a full year of mourning. Not that she'd be looking to move on any time soon; she was nearly sixty and now under the care of her son's household. There was no reason for her to seek another husband.

Tradition also mandated that there be a ceremony held on the last night of mourning in which power was officially transferred from the old to new Prince. It was where Sebastian was supposed to be right now, not sitting in the garden, getting drunk by himself. After tonight, Aidan Vael would fully be the Prince of Starkhaven…and Sebastian knew now that his time in his beloved homeland was likely to be extremely limited.

_I still can't believe grandda is gone. I didn't even get a chance to…all because I had to sneak out. What if his worrying about me caused him to fall ill? Oh, Maker, this IS all my fault, isn't it?_

Sebastian rethought his choice to put away his flask and fished it back out of his pocket, unscrewing the top and guzzling the remainder of its contents. He coughed a bit at the roughness of the rum, soon feeling numbed as its desired effect took hold.  _I hope you're at peace there beside the Maker, Grandfather._ He stalked off, choosing to ignore his duties at tonight's ceremony.  _I need some release._

"Your Highness, how lovely to see you again. So soon, too!" Madame Drusilla boasted.  _So soon, indeed. It seems like he was just here…oh wait, that's because it was just this morning that he snuck out of my kitchen as his father's guard tore in here after him._

"The usual, Madame," Sebastian spat, stomping up the stairs to his favorite prostitute's suite. Drusilla turned to her log and made another mark on the young Prince's tab.  _He's been in here a lot this month,_ she mused.  _His grandfather's death must have hit him hard._

Sebastian reached Caterina's room. The door was shut.  _I wonder who she has in there now._ He felt a slight pang of jealousy, but brushed it off.  _She's a whore. She gets paid to fuck. Of course she's going to have other men. Ugh. I just hope she washes up adequately before I go in._ The wait was rather short, as he heard the man's groaning get louder and louder until a final loud grunt was followed by silence. There were then the muffled sounds of dressing and the mystery john emerged.

"Corbinian?" Sebastian stared at his older brother, wide-eyed.

"Oh! Seb! Uh…wow. You're here for Cat too?" The eldest Vael ran a hand through his dark brown locks, trying hard to not look him in the eyes.

"I am. Say…what does Mara think of all this?" Sebastian taunted. Just a few days ago, Corbinian had learned he was to be married to Mara Fitzpatrick, the eldest daughter of the Tantervale ruling family. It was to be made official tomorrow, one of the orders of business on the new Prince's agenda.  _The lass is…how to even describe her? Ah yes. Ugly as sin and as wide as a barn._

"You'll say nothing, Seb," Corbinian growled. "Or else you will find no favors from me when your stupid drunken antics get you in hot water with Father… _again_. I'd told Gavin that you might turn over a new leaf now that Grandfather is dead, but since you're here…I highly doubt you're capable of such a change. Enjoy your time," he said, nodding his head towards Caterina's door, "I made sure to get her good and stretched out for you." He shook his head, dark curls bouncing, as he descended the grand staircase and left the brothel.  _The lad is a lost cause._

"Oh, Your Highness. Back for more?" Caterina purred as she approached the doorway. She had taken the time while the brothers talked to wash up and change into what appeared to be a brand-new chemise.

"Aye, lass," Sebastian murmured, stalking towards her. She took his hand and led him into her room, shutting the door behind them. From there, Sebastian went into a near-automatic sequence of movements. He had wasted enough time during his first couple of visits to Caterina mapping her body and its hotspots. Now he knew exactly what to do to make her whimper. Where to touch, how hard or how soft, for how long…all these were now as familiar as morning chores.

_(Kiss neck—nibble earlobe—tongue along the jawline…)_

That magic Sebastian had felt on the night he lost his virginity? It just didn't happen anymore. He craved that sense of  _escape_  that he had felt with Madeline, and hadn't gotten it since that night.

_(Slip off the chemise—hands skim on breasts—on stomach—on hips…)_

He had even tried going back to Madeline, but it just wasn't the same. He had managed to sleep with most of his family's handmaidens, a few of his grandmother's, all of his aunt's ladies, one of Gavin's lasses, and many a loose girl from the tavern.

_(Grab her arse—still kissing her neck but never her lips—kissing down, down, to her breasts…)_

If he were to count all the tiny nicks he had made in his belt for each conquest, he would come up with well over thirty different women in just about a year and a half.

_(Suck nipples—keep kissing down—taste her—fingers deep—lay her on the bed—drop trou…)_

Yet here he was, in the same room with the same whore for the second time today, trying desperately again to  _escape_.

_(Plunge deep inside—rocking, twisting hips—fingers on her pearl…)_

And yet again, he knew that while he would get his physical release, his soul would feel just as disturbingly hollow as it had before.

_(Feel her tighten around—quicken the pace—harder—faster—just a bit more…)_

Sebastian stayed still for a couple of moments after his release, panting to catch his breath. He thanked Caterina, as always, while he put his clothes back on. He walked out of the room without uttering anything else, not even looking back. Caterina sat up on the bed, curling her silk sheets around her naked form, watching him skulk off.  _Well…that was odd. He didn't make a single sound._

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

_Och. I only want to finish my ale, get a new bottle of rum, and leave. Why is this prig being so damned annoying? I ought to just punch him in his fat mouth and make him shut his hole._

"Hey! LAD! I'm talking t' ye," the man slurred at Sebastian. Since he had wandered into the tavern on his way back from the brothel, this man had been trying to lure Sebastian to his table.  _Spoiled rotten little shits, all dem Vaels. An' this one? He's the worst of 'em all. I can't wait to smack some sense into that stupid red-haired head of his._

"I'd stay right here, Sebastian," Paul the barkeep warned, pulling Sebastian's attention back to him. "That one's nothin' but trouble. He likes picking fights with ones he feels won't be much trouble, then runs around bragging about how tough he is. Just a big bully, really."

Sebastian looked at the man, then back at Paul, torn. "But I'm—"

"Bait," Madeline broke in softly, her breath warm and soothing in his ear. "Nothing more. I know you think you're tough, but seriously…he's twice your size. He's a peasant; you're a noble. He ain't worth it."  _Aye, the lass is right. I should just get my bottle and leave._

The man didn't fail to notice that Madeline had leaned in close to whisper in Sebastian's ear.  _She rejected me for that boy?_ And just like that, he knew what would lure Sebastian over to him for the pummeling he so desperately deserved.

"Hey laddie, ye tryin' t' make it wit dat whore? Ye sure ye got tha coin? A shiny copper is an  _awful_  expense these days!" He shouted brightly. The fat, blustery man had barely finished slandering Madeline when Sebastian managed to ball a fist into his rough cotton shirt, his icy blue eyes boring into the man's bloodshot hazel orbs.  _Perfect. I knew I'd get a rise out of ye, ye hotheaded little brat._

"You listen to me, and you listen good, you fat piece of trash," Sebastian growled. "Nobody, and I mean nobody, insults Madeline. She is a good, kind, sweet woman and I will not have you insinuate that an evening with her is for sale, let alone worth a measly copper."

 _Oh, that's cute. Tryin' t'be all chivalrous._ "You're out of your league laddie," the man snarled, having quickly drawn his knife as Sebastian was busy uttering his threats, the point of it now barely touching the hollow of Sebastian's throat. "Who said anythin' about a whole evenin' anyway? I just want a tumble, son," the man replied, sneering. His breath reeked of liquor, leafsmoke, and rotting food bits stuck in his yellow, decaying teeth. _Too easy. This wouldn't even be fun._ The man quickly twisted his torso, wrenching his shirt from Sebastian's hand, and he jammed the point of his knife deep into the table. He muttered something under his breath, but Sebastian couldn't make it out over the background din of the tavern.

"What was that you said?" Sebastian demanded as he steeled himself for the inevitable.

The man laughed, his belly jiggling. "I said, laddie, that you wouldn't be worth my time."

"Worth your time? Like you're so skilled? I bet you can barely stand up under your own weight, you fat bastard! When was the last time you saw your toes?" Sebastian taunted the man as his fingers found the grip of his dagger. He curled his fingers around it, ready to pull it free. But it wasn't the portly stranger that Sebastian was seeing before him; the body still belonged to the stranger, sure, but the face?  _Aidan Vael_. As the man continued his diatribe, railing against spoiled little shits like him, all Sebastian could focus on was how his father's face was mocking him, teasing him, telling him how he'd never be good enough, not for a Vael…not  _worth his time_.

"…an' then you come over here and grab my shirt with all the strength of a little lass…"

And before he had a chance to come to his senses—to realize that the man mocking him was NOT his father—Sebastian jerked his dagger from the scabbard and flung it at the man's head, roaring  _I AM worthy!_ as the blade flew through the air. He missed— _badly_ —and only just realized it when a fist came smashing into his nose and his whole world turned into visions of white stars, the coppery taste of blood, and a peaceful black silence.

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

Sebastian splashed his face with water again, gently wiping away the last bits of dried blood from his stubbly chin. He looked up at his reflection in the mirror and shook his head.  _So much for that perfect nose. The twin black eyes? Just perfect. What the fuck was I thinking? She IS a whore. She's nice to me, yes, but she is what she is. Why did I try to defend her honor when she has none?_

It was almost an act of mercy when the fat man's right hook knocked Sebastian out cold with one blow. He left immediately, shaking his head, bragging to passersby as soon as he got out of the tavern that he had beaten the snot out of a  _royal_. Madeline and Paul carried him up to her room, the same one where Sebastian had lost his innocence, and tried their best to reset his nose while he was still out. As soon as he came to, Madeline had started to cry softly, thankful that he had been knocked out right away. She had seen him do far, far worse to far weaker men, she said, and was very glad that her little Lord had gotten away with just a broken nose, two black eyes, and a bruised ego. She helped him through the underground corridors to the palace, handing him off to one of the guards, who was by now used to helping the oft-addled young man make his way into bed at night. His re-entry didn't go unnoticed by Gavin, however, and his older brother managed to discreetly get the Court Healer to look at Sebastian's nose right away. The healer had provided a poultice that would make the swelling go down faster, but there would be a bump on the bridge. Furthermore, there was little he could do for the bruising, and so here Sebastian stood, staring at the purple-black circles surrounding his icy-blue eyes, marveling at the stark contrast.

"You're a right stupid tit, Sebastian," Gavin muttered as he scooped up Sebastian's blood-stained shirt to take to the laundry. "Your absence, thankfully, went unnoticed last night…or at least if Father noticed you were gone, he didn't say a word to Cor or me. So what are you going to tell him?"

"About my nose?" Sebastian asked, and Gavin nodded. "I got up to use the chamber pot in the night, tripped over the blasted rug, and fell on my face."

"Good one. Your lies are getting better, little brother," Gavin chuckled. "Seriously though. What happened?"

"There was a fat piece of—" Sebastian started, a scowl darkening his already black-and-blue countenance.

Gavin's eyes locked on Sebastian's as he backed him towards the bed. "I don't mean  _that_. I know you got your stupid face knocked in by some piece of shit with a chip on his shoulder. I mean what happened to  _you_? You used to be such a sweet boy, and now look. You're sneaking out almost every night, getting drunk, sleeping with practically every lass that looks your way, and now apparently picking fights. When was the last time you attended the Chant? What has you so angry? I thought you and Father were getting along better."

Sebastian sighed and plopped down on the edge of his bed. "You don't know what it's like, Gavin. To know you weren't wanted. To know you're a burden. To know that your own father, despite what he says to your face, doesn't consider you a true Vael…that he'd wanted you to be a girl…that he wants to put you away in the Chantry where you'll never have the chance to take a wife or have a family or simply live on your own terms…and that even though you tried to prove yourself through regular means, the only time you've ever captured his attention is when you come home stumbling drunk…"

Gavin looked at Sebastian, his eyes shining. "We're princes, Sebastian. We were born without the ability to live on our own terms. I'm sorry for Father. If it means anything to you, Corbinian and I obviously care about you…but I know it's hard, seeing how much Father puts into Corbinian, whilst barely giving two shits about…us. He ignores me too, though not to the extent that he does you. I can only scarcely identify with that level of hurt."

"I just…want to  _escape_. And I had—oh Maker's  _balls_ , never mind…"

Gavin's eyes widened. "You don't mean to…run away, do you?"

"No. Look, Gavin, thanks for helping me out. I don't want you getting tangled up in this any more than you already are. I'm going to try to eat something and head out to the range. I need to clear my head." Sebastian rose, pushing past his brother as he approached his armoire, grabbing a clean shirt and pulling it on.

 _He's pushing you away, Gavin. Bring him back._ "You are becoming quite skilled with the bow, brother. I should talk to Father, tell him to train you to Captain the army. That duty is supposed to fall to me…but Maker knows I have no real fighting skills."  _Duty. Purpose. That's what he needs in his life now._

Sebastian wrapped the kilt around his waist, fixing it in place with his belt. "Thanks, Gavin, but like I said…don't get yourself more involved than you already are. If Father sees fit to do something like that for me, then he will. I know Grandda mentioned it to him before."

"Very well. I'll…well…if you want to talk, you know where I am," Gavin said softly, turning and leaving Sebastian to his thoughts. Sebastian laced his boots quickly and walked over to the armoire where he kept his bows. He had three now; a shortbow of black walnut, the whitewood longbow that he had been given on his thirteenth Name Day, and his grandfather's bow. Shortly after his grandfather had died, Meghan Vael had snuck the Starkhaven Longbow into Sebastian's room. He hadn't dared to take it out and shoot it yet, but felt that today was a good day to finally nock an arrow on the legendary weapon. He smiled as he opened the double doors to the cabinet, expecting to see the gilt beech bow and his grandfather's well-worn leather quiver.

The only weapon in the cabinet was a simple one made of yew—weaker than those that new army recruits were given as standard issue—and a cheap leather quiver with three crooked arrows.


	6. Sweetness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian finds his salvation.

_How did…WHO? Who would break into my room and steal my bows? And the yew? A total insult._ Sebastian burst into his father's study, dropping to a knee. "Fath—er, Your Highness. I wish to report a robbery. Someone has broken into my room and stolen my weapons."

Aidan Vael threw his head back and laughed heartily. "You idiot," he guffawed, "Nobody stole those bows. I took them away." He took a large gulp of his scotch.

"What? Why?" Sebastian scrambled to his feet, confused.

The Prince paused in front of the window, looking casually over his shoulder at his youngest boy. " _Punishment_. You didn't think I missed that you were gone during the power transfer ceremony? You don't think I already know how you got that broken nose and those black eyes?" Sebastian stared at his father, gobsmacked. "What, were you going to tell me you tripped and fell or walked into a wall or something? Please, child. I'm no fool. This city's full of gossips. You apparently have very bad aim with a throwing dagger, and incredibly good luck all at once."

Sebastian's face turned red with a mix of embarassment and anger. He chose—wisely—to say nothing as he memorized the pattern of the study's rug.  _Who ratted me out? Gavin? Had to be. I'm gonna kick him in the balls. I swear it._

"You'll get your bows back in a  _month_ ," Aidan Vael continued, briefly returning to his desk to grab his glass of scotch. "Look at me, lad." Sebastian forced himself to meet his father's eyes, just as icy-blue as his own. His father growled, startling the boy. "Except the Starkhaven Longbow. You don't get  _that_  back, lad."

Sebastian was instantly furious, rushing to his father. "Why? Grandda promised it to me!"

The man's eyes narrowed at his wayward son. "I know the terms of the deal. You were to be able to string and pull it well enough to actually fire it without hurting yourself. You failed to do so before his untimely death. Therefore, the deal is null and void. I will be keeping the bow."

"But it has to pass on to someone, Father…"  _You are no archer, Father. I'm the only Vael archer now._

"It does. You are right about that," Aidan said, sneering. "It can pass on to one of Corbinian's sons when the time comes. I don't intend on going anywhere any time soon. I ought to live long enough to see that happen now that he's betrothed to the Fitzpatrick lass."

 _Hold it together, Sebastian. Be polite and walk away._ "Very well, if that is your wish, Father…" Sebastian looked away, biting his lower lip to keep it from quivering as he fought back stinging tears.

Aidan left his son standing as he went over to the bar and poured himself more scotch. "It is. I think you've made it abundantly clear, Sebastian, that you are incapable of handling the responsibility that goes along with that weapon. The wielder of that weapon is expected to be the leader of soldiers. Right now, the only thing you seem to be able to lead is your cock down to the brothel. We have more to discuss, but I've got quite a lot to do. Good day."

 _Ouch._ Sebastian gave his father a curt nod and a stiff bow before spinning on the balls of his feet and walking calmly out of the study. Once outside, and a decent distance away, he broke into a run. He ran through the palace and out into the garden, seeking out the small bronze cherub in the Northwest corner. Finding it, he gently tipped it back, revealing the small hollow underneath. He plucked up the bottle of rum he had stashed there and returned the statue to its position. Sebastian was breathing hard from his run, staring at the bottle of amber liquid in his hands momentarily before he flipped up the metal latch holding the stopper in place. He breathed in the harsh vapor in anticipation before putting bottle to lips and taking a big swig. After a few more gulps for good measure, Sebastian pulled the bottle away and wiped his mouth. It only took a few moments for the effects to start to hit.

Sebastian wandered down to the riverbank, slumping against a willow tree, the shade of the drooping branches a comfort in the late spring heat. Still pulling regularly from the rum bottle, he was now starting to feel a tiny bit of reprieve from the crushing rejection he felt whenever he had to deal with his father.

_I had it. It was mine. And now I'll never…I'll never have anything to remember Grandda by._

"Sebastian?"

Sebastian whipped his head towards the sound. His brain (and vision) caught up a split second later. "Colleen? What are you doing out here?" His pulse quickened a bit; Colleen always had that effect. He'd harbored a crush on her for years; she was the one lass he feared rejection from.

"I might ask the same, Your Highness," she said, sitting down by him but not daring to get too close. "I come out here to do needlework, sometimes. It's nice to watch the river," she offered.

"Please, just call me Sebastian. I insist…and yes, you are right. It's nice to watch the river."

"Very well… _Sebastian_ ," she said, the sound of his name on her lips making him ache. "You come out here often?"

"Sometimes. When I need to clear my head. The river is beautiful this time of year, when the last of the winter runoff has flushed through and the water is clear and sweet again. If the water weren't so bloody cold I'd jump in for a swim. Rum?" He tipped the open bottle in her direction.

She giggled, a musical sound that danced in his ears. Taking the bottle gingerly, she took a tiny sip, spluttering at the harshness of the spirit. Sebastian snickered, causing her to turn a bright pink.

Sebastian smiled slyly, his eyes dancing. "I'm sorry, lass. I should have warned you that this rum is from Rivain. It's…rather rough."

Colleen wiped her mouth with her sleeve, the burning effect of the liquor still slightly overpowering, making her grey eyes water…but she laughed anyway. "Whereever did you get such swill?"

"This? The cellars. We have crates upon crates of the stuff. I've been sneaking a bottle a week for about a year now. Nobody's noticed yet, and I doubt they will any time soon." Sebastian explained, as Colleen dared another delicate drink. She didn't cough much this time and smiled at her own progress.

"Hmm. Once you get past that… _burn_ , this is not bad," she mumbled before turning to Sebastian. "Look…I'm sorry about your grandfather. He was a wonderful man. I enjoyed working for him very much."

Sebastian eyed her curiously. "But you're my  _gran's_  handmaiden…"

Colleen rolled her eyes, feeling a bit more comfortable, a bit more bold around Sebastian. She was seeing him less as a royal and more as a boy her age. "Sebastian, you should know that when it comes to household servants, there really isn't ownership. I used to run all sorts of errands for both your grandparents. In fact, he liked the way I mended his shirts the best. He was a…kind man. I'd like to think my own grandda might've been like him." She took another sip of the rum and handed the bottle to Sebastian.

Sebastian drank and glanced at the girl, his brows knotted in concern. "You never knew yours?"

"No. I was left at the orphanage by my father after my mother died. I was two. I don't remember her, or him really, at all. I have no family to speak of," Colleen whispered, her grey eyes shining with tears.

Sebastian tentatively placed a hand on her shoulder as he handed the bottle to her again. "Well, I'm glad you have found some comfort with us. I hope that my father's household will continue to treat you well. You're still my gran's primary maid, right?"

Colleen took another gulp of rum as she nodded her head vigorously. "Aye. She's been like a mother to me. Your own mother is a sweet angel as well. Starkhaven surely is lucky to have such an outstanding family to lead it."

Sebastian caught her eyes, warming his expression for her. "I'm glad you feel that way. I'm sure Corbinian will keep up the tradition."

 _Curious. He skipped right over his father and straight to Corbinian?_ "So, what happens now?"

Sebastian gently snatched the bottle away from Colleen, taking yet another swig. "I get shipped off to the Chantry, no doubt," he said bitterly.

Grey eyes flew wide as Colleen gasped. "The  _Chantry_? Why?"  _What a waste!_

"My father designated me for Brotherhood when I was a wee lad," he said mockingly. "Grandda kept him from sending me there for years, but now…I don't think there's any way I'll be able to avoid it," Sebastian said softly as he took another swig, draining the bottle. He stared at it, as though he were trying to divine his future from it.

"But you're—"

Sebastian never broke his gaze from the glass vessel in his hand. "A third-born. A waste.  _Unworthy._  Ask my father sometime." The hurt was poisoning his voice as much as the rum was slurring it now.

Colleen clapped a hand on his shoulder, startling him from his glazed-over staring contest with the bottle. "You're no  _waste_. Even  _I_  can see that. You've definitely stumbled over the past couple of years, Sebastian, but you are good, deep-down. You have your grandfather's heart. I don't know what's going on with you—I mean, I've heard  _plenty_ —but know if you ever need to talk, I'm here. I've known you since we were wee. Sebastian…that…" she trailed off, pointing at the empty bottle, " _that_  isn't you."

Sebastian looked at Colleen and her pleading face.  _Those eyes. Maker, is Sebastian…scared? Sad? Lost? All three?_  He reached out tentatively, caressing her cheek. She put a hand over his and leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering shut as she turned a pale pink.

He briefly recalled Madeline's words.  _Don't kiss a gal on the lips if you don't love her._  Maybe he didn't truly love Colleen, but Maker help him if this wasn't likely to be the closest he ever got to it.  _What fifteen-year-old knows what love really is, anyway? All I know is that she makes my heart flutter whenever she is near._ Slowly, he brought his lips to hers, making the barest of contact. She sighed delicately and Sebastian was sure his heart was about to burst at the sweetness of her response. He dared to kiss her again, a bit firmer this time, but still savoring the softness of her lips. She parted them for him and dared to flick out the tip of her tongue as an invitation. Sebastian took her bait; he teased her a bit at first, tracing his tongue around the opening before slipping slowly inside. Their tongues danced and the sensation was incredible.  _Madeline…oh, you were so right…_

Usually with women, Sebastian didn't waste much time with foreplay. As soon as he gauged his partner's readiness, he was inside. Colleen, though?  _I could keep kissing these divine lips until the Maker calls me to his side_. As they kissed, he ran his hands through her raven hair, marveling at its silkiness, drinking in these moments like a man half-dead of thirst.

The snapping of a twig brought them back to reality. Gavin stood over them, a smirk on his freckled face.

"Get up, you lovebirds," he teased. "Sebastian, I thought I'd find you here. We've got riding lessons in ten minutes, remember? Please don't be late." Gavin walked away, snickering.

Sebastian brought his hand down from Colleen's hair to the side of her neck. He leaned into her, pressing his forehead gently against hers as he smiled broadly. She returned the grin and planted a light kiss on his chin before pulling away. She rose, shaking the leaves from her skirts and waved a goodbye, wiggling her fingers playfully. Her ivory skin was flush, lips swollen from kissing, raven hair disheveled from his fingers' work, and icy-grey eyes now as dark as a thundercloud. Sebastian had never seen such a beautiful sight.

"I'll come to you later," he called, trying to do so as quietly as possible, wondering how he would manage to do it. She only smiled shyly as she turned and hurried back to the palace, chewing on her thumbnail. Sebastian flopped backward, letting out a huge breath as he struggled to get his burning desire under control. A few shaky moments later, he felt sober and controlled enough to run over to the stables for riding practice.


	7. The Missing Piece

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluffy PWP. You've been warned. ;-)

**_One year later:_ **

Sebastian shaved carefully, not wanting to nick his skin. The last thing he wanted was for Colleen to fuss over a tiny bloodspot.  _Finally. Mother and Father are out of the palace long enough for me to have her over. Tonight? She'll be mine fully._ Since their first kiss under the willow tree on the banks of the Minanter, everything seemed to click into place. Sebastian felt a sense of completeness, a sense of belonging. He felt  _worthy_ …at least of her. And because of this, Sebastian had sworn off other women, even managed to reign in his drinking.  _All because of her sweet kisses._

Not that Aidan Vael had given his youngest son much credit for the turnaround, at least other than not having him shipped off to the Chantry; he knew fully that it was because of the affections his boy was receiving from a  _servant_. He wasn't about to allow his youngest to become betrothed to a lowborn, yet he wasn't too eager to put an end to the relationship—not just yet, anyway.  _Whatever that girl is doing for him…at least he's stopped all the drinking and whoring,_ he had told Corbinian.

It had been a hard year, in more ways than one, because for all of their secret trysts, she had adamantly refused to give him her maidenhead until she could know for certain that he had  _really_  changed. And while at first Sebastian was motivated by this lust for her, he found himself truly wanting to change because he  _liked_  himself again. He liked not waking up in a hung-over haze, reeking of booze and cheap perfume. He liked not feeling like an eternal fuck-up. He liked not feeling that emptiness, that rejection when he watched his brothers interact with their father because he knew—he _knew_ —that even though his father had written him off, there was one person that the Maker made just for  _him_ , and he had  _found_  her. Everything else, all the hurt, all the frustration simply melted away on the fringes as he allowed himself to be consumed with the warmth that her affections brought to him. It was enough. It was all he needed, all he wanted.

At their last meeting, though, she whispered dark, raw words in his ear that were as intoxicating as any rum as she dragged his hand up her skirts, up her inner thighs, until he was just about to touch  _her_  and then she pulled away, promising that as soon as he could find a way to bed her properly—not in a closet or haystack or hidden corner of the orchard—she would give herself to him. That had been nearly a fortnight ago, and every single night since Sebastian had been forced to relieve himself to the memory of that voice, the smoothness of her thighs, the heat of her core oh-so-close to his fingers, just near enough to tease mercilessly.

Sebastian washed off the last of his shaving balm and pulled on his shirt, tucking it into his kilt. For the first time in a long time, he was actually  _nervous_  to have sex. Too quickly, his first experience had devolved into a string of nameless, faceless encounters in which he simply sought release.  _I am going to take my time with Colleen, map every square inch of her alabaster flesh, memorize every little sigh and squeal and gasp and groan, all just for me, and…Maker, I had better stop thinking about this before I spend on my damned kilt. It has been a long time._

It was nearly twilight now, the time that he had told Colleen to come to his room. He took a deep breath, letting it out in a rush as he looked over his room. He had lit some scented candles, the spicy clove, orange, and vanilla aroma now filling his bedchamber. He had even taken time to get some small ale and snacks.  _I don't intend for her to leave until dawn._

As if on cue, there was a delicate rapping at his door. Sebastian strode over to it, opening it cautiously at first, then flinging it open and dragging his beloved inside once he was sure it was Colleen. She giggled lightly, the sweet notes never failing to send a shiver down Sebastian's spine, as she stumbled her way into his room. He closed and locked the door behind him; he didn't want to risk getting caught tonight. Approaching Colleen from behind, Sebastian wrapped his arms around her narrow waist, putting his lips to her ear.

"Love, I should let you know that Gavin's room is directly through that door, and he is a light sleeper so we'll need to stay relatively quiet," he whispered with husky voice, "though I imagine we're going to make that very difficult for each other, aren't we, lass?" He nipped her ear lightly, eliciting an unexpected moan that shot straight to his core. He switched to her other ear as he ran his hands across her flat belly. "Are you absolutely certain you want to do this, Colleen? Don't feel like you have to on my account. I think I've shown I can be quite patient when I want to be…"

Colleen turned her head what little she could. "I'm certain, Sebastian. I love you so much…this just feels right." She arched into him slightly.

"Same here." Sebastian pushed aside her long hair, exposing more of her neck. He trailed kisses from her earlobe down the side of it, down to her shoulder, where he nipped lightly again, still rubbing his hands lightly across her stomach, moving up to her breasts. She sighed and arched into him further, grinding her bottom against him ever-so-lightly, eliciting a sound from the Prince that was something like half-growl, half-whine.

Sebastian released Colleen's waist, dragging one hand lazily across her lower back and down her arm, grasping her fingers lightly as he pulled her towards the bed. He sat on the edge, pulling her towards him, resting his head against her stomach with a sigh as he kissed it. Colleen leaned over and kissed his bronze locks, running her slender fingers through his hair.  _He didn't brush it back as severely as usual. I had no idea it was so wavy…I think I like this better!_ She brought her thumbs along his jawline and tilted his chin up, kissing his forehead, then his nose, and finally his lips. He groaned lightly at her affection and deepened the kiss, urging her to sit beside him. Once she had sat, he pulled at her hair tie, loosening the low ponytail, and he ran his fingers through her hair over and over as they kissed.

They were still liplocked even as he brought his hands out of her hair, down the sides of her neck, resting at the neckline of her dress. She tipped her head back, exposing her throat and décolletage, inviting him to take whatever liberties he wanted with her. He kissed her throat, suckling at the hollow, moving down her exposed chest. Sebastian would have simply pushed down the top part of her dress to uncover her breasts, but the sly lass had worn a dress that was stiffly boned.  _She's gonna make me work for it still,_ he thought as he smiled to himself.

"Off," he grunted, gesturing at her dress. Colleen smiled wickedly as she rose from the edge of the bed, sauntering a couple of steps away as she started to tug on the lacing on the front of her overdress. She loosened it slowly—a bit too slowly for Sebastian's liking as he leapt up, snatching a small dagger from his boot, and deftly making quick work of the pesky laces with a sharp upward slice. Sebastian flung the dagger in a general backward direction, the point finding purchase in one of the posts of his bed. His darkened eyes looked at her through auburn eyelashes.

"Hey!" She gasped, a little mad—it was a new dress, after all—yet incredibly turned on by his skilled move as she fingered one of the shredded pieces of her lacing. Sebastian gently brushed her hands out of the way and parted the front of her overdress, sliding it off of her shoulders, and then divesting her of the wide-necked chemise underneath…and just like that, he could gaze on nearly every square inch of her pale, pale skin. Sebastian gasped, just a little, as his hands found her full breasts.

"Sorry, love," he grumbled, taking a hard nipple into his mouth. "I have extra-long bootlaces…"

"That would be perfect," she moaned, putting her hands on the back of his head, desperate for more of his touch. "Oh… _Sebastian_ …"

He smiled. He had heard his name on the lips of many a woman in moments like these, but from his beloved Colleen? It was the sweetest sound. He shivered as he delighted in it, moving his hands down from her breasts, skimming her waist and hips, his mouth following lazily behind. Her skin was soft, smooth, and warm under his open lips, the taste of it sweet as he flicked his tongue over the creamy curves of her body. "Lass…what do you bathe in? You taste…"

"Like honey? That was just for you, love," she sighed.

"Just for me?" Sebastian murmured, tracing the tip of his tongue over some of the freckles on her stomach, making a figure-eight pattern of the light brown flecks on her ivory skin. He looked up and she nodded slowly, her eyelids fluttering in the pleasure of the sensation.

Sebastian dared to move his ministrations a bit lower, pushing down her smalls so he could kiss mere inches above her dark curls. "All for me?" He growled, never breaking eye contact as he watched her bite her lower lip and throw her head back, keening under his touch.

He pushed the smalls down the rest of the way, letting her brace against him for balance as he tenderly lifted one foot, then the other, and the smalls were gone. Sebastian brought his lips back to her belly again, ghosting even lower as he was about to bury his face in her wet heat, his hands on her thighs, urging them apart just enough as he whispered, voice husky and raw, " _Only_  for me?"

"Yes," Colleen groaned as Sebastian's tongue flicked out for that first taste of her. She cried out at those first exploratory licks, the sensation so foreign yet so stimulating. Sebastian pulled back, causing her to whine at the loss of his mouth until she realized that he had picked her up, hoisting her over his shoulder, planting a hot kiss on her hip before laying her down on her back. He sought her warmth again, the new angle and the addition of his deft hands even more titillating. Sebastian murmured constantly against her, the humming of his mouth bringing her to the edge as she started to buck and grind helplessly against him. He dared to slip a finger inside, crooking it just so, and she flew over the edge moments later, screaming his name despite her best effort to stay quiet.

Sebastian stood back for a second, whipping his shirt off, arms getting entangled in the loose fabric of the sleeves momentarily as he growled a curse under his breath. Colleen sat up, beckoning Sebastian to her. She reached out shyly, tracing the outline of his muscles with her small, slender fingers, tracing her way down the light dusting of hair just below his navel before fumbling with his belt. He chuckled darkly as she let out a frustrated huff, looking down…and remembering that  _true_  Starkhaven men wore nothing underneath. She peaked an eyebrow enticingly at him as her hands flew to his knees, working up underneath the woolen garment until she found  _him_ , hot and velvety and full.

Sebastian leaned down and kissed the top of her head as a reward. "Clever girl, my sweet love. Here, let me help…" he trailed off as he quickly unfastened his belt and shed his kilt, allowing her a look at  _his_  naked form in return. Colleen looked at his hard length, then up through hooded, lusty grey eyes at his before wrapping her delicate hands around him and planting a tiny kiss at the very tip. Sebastian's nostrils flared as he took a slow, deep breath in and out to steady himself.  _Sweet Andraste, it's been so long…_

Either she had done this before, someone had told her, or Colleen had been reading some very naughty Orlesian novels because it didn't take long until Sebastian was clingingly desperately to his last thread of restraint like a piece of flotsam after a shipwreck. Desperate to not spend before feeling all of her, he pulled his hips back sharply, depriving the raven-haired beauty of his length. She pouted and Sebastian crushed his lips to hers. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, but I cannot stand it any longer…"

Colleen pulled back and looked longingly at him before laying back, pushing herself back further onto the bed, propping herself up on elbows as she chewed on her lip. There were no words needed; it was clear that she was as ready for this as he as she simply nodded. Sebastian pounced, caging her with his body as he kissed her again and hilted himself—quickly, so as to get the pain for her done and over with—their tongues dancing as he paused to let her adjust to him.  _Wait…she didn't wince? Where was the resistance? Has she…_ Sebastian shrugged it off as he began to move slowly against her.  _Even if…she's still so incredibly tight…Maker, I'm not going to last long…_

"I love you so much, my precious…" he whispered only moments before that final thread broke, wave upon wave of ecstasy crashing upon him as he spilled deep inside.

They lay together for a long time, basking in the luxury that this free evening was giving them, occasionally teasing each other with stolen touches and kisses. Before long, both were ready for more, with Colleen daring to pin Sebastian underneath her, letting him gaze on her gentle curves as she moved on top of him, gyrating and arching her back and  _Maker this is way better than any fantasy I've ever conjured up about her._

In the last hours before dawn, they tore themselves apart begrudgingly, Sebastian lacing her back into her dress with one of the bootlaces he had spoken of hours ago. He kissed her forehead and placed his against hers with a sigh. Reluctantly, she pulled away, glancing over her shoulder as she surreptitiously exited his bedchamber.

Colleen snuck through the underground corridors and slipped into her quarters again before the rising sun would have exposed her scandalous deeds. She crawled into her bed quietly, stripping off her outer dress while underneath her blankets so that when the others rose, she would appear to have gone to sleep in a chemise just like they had. Colleen drifted off, biting her lip hard and curling into a fetal position as the guilt over what she had done overwhelmed her.


	8. Wicked Game

**_Two months later:_ **

Sebastian made his way to the market, basking in the morning sun. He wanted to buy something pretty to surprise his sweet girl with. He entered the jeweler's shop and looked at the displays.  _There. Perfect._ "How much for those silver hair combs?"

The jeweler looked up from his work, a simple gold ring that was likely a wedding band. "Two sovereign, Your Highness. Gift for your mother? I must say she prefers the gold. Brings out the color in her hair," the jeweler replied. "She thinks silver makes her look pallid."

"They're not for her, no," Sebastian said, running a finger along the scalloped edge of one of the combs. "Trust me; the silver is what I want."

The jeweler put down the engraving stylus, approaching the young man. "Oh? Who's the lucky lass that has tamed the young Vael's heart?"

Sebastian picked up the matching hairbrush now, twirling it in his hand. "Her name is Colleen. The silver ought to look so pretty in her silky black hair…"

 _Black hair? Not many lasses around these parts have that dark of hair._ "Colleen…black hair…that wouldn't be Colleen  _MacDougal_ , would it?"

Sebastian grinned, putting down the hairbrush and turning to the jeweler. "Aye. Why d'you ask?"

"Well…m'boy…"  _Oh Maker, how does he not know? "…_ she's already  _spoken_  for." He looked at the ring he was working on guiltily.

"What?" Sebastian felt his heart leap up into his throat. Rushing blood was starting to drown out all sound as he fixed his eyes on the still-moving lips of the jeweler.

"…and he came in here a fortnight ago to order the rings. Workin' on 'em now. So you see, Your Highness…your lass is taken. Though I'm sure as a  _royal_ , you could certainly try to sway her heart still…the combs would be a good start…" The jeweler said quietly, averting his gaze. He couldn't stand the devastation on Sebastian's face.

Sebastian cleared his throat, calming himself enough to speak again as his brows furrowed. "I'm sorry…what did you say his name was?"

"Rob MacSwain…the son of your father's Master of Horse?" The jeweler said, incredulous. "Honestly, Sebastian, I'm surprised you didn't know, considering Colleen in the service of the Dowager Princess."

Sebastian could only nod numbly as he staggered out of the shop. He didn't go home. He returned to the one place that he could when he needed to ease the pain.  _Old habits die hard._

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

"Shhh…there, there, little Lord," Madeline murmured as she raked her fingers through Sebastian's hair. He'd been sitting at the bar for three hours now, drinking non-stop as he moped, and had been outright crying, head buried in his outstretched, folded arms for the past ten minutes.  _He hadn't been in here for so long…I thought he finally got straightened out. Damn._

Sebastian lifted his head, his blue eyes ringed with bloodshot sclerae and puffy lids. "I broke the rule. I broke your fucking rule, and this is what it fucking got me," he said hoarsely, bitterly. He let his head drop back on his folded arms and Madeline resumed stroking his hair.

 _The rule? He actually listened to me? Chalk that up on the very short list of good things I've done in my life. _"Oh, Sebastian. My dear, sweet Sebastian. You're in love? That's what this is about?"

"Maker, yes," he sobbed, muffled by his arms.

Madeline chuckled lightly. "Then you didn't break the rule now, did you? You loved her, you kissed her. That's what's  _supposed_  to happen. Sometimes it turns out well, but most of the time it doesn't." She sighed, momentarily lost in flashbacks of loves long lost. "Do you even know why I told you not to kiss on the lips unless you felt something for a girl?"

Bronze waves shook back and forth in the negative.

"Because you were too damned  _young_. I didn't realize  _how_  young until later…your brothers weren't exactly forthcoming with that information. But I knew I had to do something to keep at least one part of actual lovemaking pure for you as long as possible," Madeline whispered. "Based on your reaction…she was the first lass you actually kissed, wasn't she?"

The hunched-over mass of bronze waves nodded and hiccupped.

Madeline smiled. "So now you know why I told you that, don't you? You know the difference between having sex and making love…don't you?"

"Yes," Sebastian's muffled voice choked out.  _Yes…and it was like heaven._

"Now…if you're in love…tell me why you've been here drowning your sorrows all damned day," she chided. "You've hardly been in here at all for months, now. Something had to have happened…" Madeline trailed off.

Sebastian sighed and sat up, wiping his face before looking Madeline straight in the eyes. "She lied. She led me to believe she loved me and the whole damned time she was betrothed to another. How could I be so stupid?"

"You? You think that  _you're_  stupid? That's ridiculous. You're a damned Prince!  _She's_  the one who's cheated  _you_ , Sebastian.  _She's_  the stupid one. Loose girls never come out ahead," Madeline muttered bitterly, twirling her wedding ring around her finger with her thumb.  _Loose girls marry the first sad sack that agrees to when you find yourself pregnant and you don't know who the father is._  "How did you find out, anyway?"

"I…uh…I went to the jeweler, to buy her a gift. The jeweler said he was engraving her wedding rings. I came straight here."

Madeline shook her head before lightly smacking Sebastian upside his. "Little Lord…I take back my prior statement. You  _ARE_  stupid. You know why? Because you haven't learned the most important thing about being in love."

Sebastian tilted his chin down, arching his eyebrows as if to ask  _…And that is?_

Madeline gave a wan smile. "You gotta fight for it. Go talk to her. Find out what's really going on. Maybe the jeweler was mistaken, maybe he wasn't, but if you truly love the lass, you'll at least do yourself the courtesy of finding out the truth."

Sebastian nodded to himself and then smiled sadly at Madeline. He drained his tankard, flipped a couple of silvers on to the bar, and stormed out.

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

It didn't take long for Sebastian to reach his Gran's house. He entered and stopped the first handmaiden he saw. "Bryn, have you seen Colleen? I need to speak to her," he whispered.

"Your Highness…she's not feeling well. She's lying down in quarters," the young girl stammered before realizing what Sebastian intended. "You can't go in there," the petite redhead blurted, horrified, as Sebastian took off for the maids' quarters.

He went to knock on the door but found it was already open. Colleen sat on the edge of her bed, holding a bucket, retching violently. Sebastian just stood there for a moment while she finished and rinsed her mouth out with water. She became aware of the person standing in the doorway and whipped her gaze to him. Realization set in and Colleen's already pale face went even whiter.

"Sebastian! What are you doing back here? You shouldn't be in the maids' rooms," she hissed, eyes darting around nervously as she stashed the bucket underneath the bed opposite hers.

Sebastian walked into the room, perching himself beside her, leaving a modest amount of space in case someone should walk in. "I haven't been able to see you for weeks. And today…well…" He took a deep breath, steeling himself.  _Out with it, then._  "Well, I heard you are betrothed to another. So…I've got some questions, naturally."

Colleen quickly averted her gaze away and down, biting her lower lip.

"Is it true?" Sebastian demanded, hooking a finger under her chin and gently turning her face towards his.

Tears welled up and spilled down her cheeks.

"I asked you a question, Colleen, and I deserve an answer. Is. It. True?" Sebastian asked firmly, but didn't raise his voice. It wasn't his intent to scare her.

Her nostrils flared lightly as she drew in a sharp breath and nodded, tearing her face away again and burying it in her violently shaking hands. "I'm so sorry, Sebastian," she whispered between sobs, growing nearly hysterical as she spoke. "I didn't mean to hurt you but Robbie asked me to marry him and I didn't know what to do and I just said yes without even thinking and I'm just so very, very sorry…"

Sebastian got up, facing away from her, running both hands slowly through his hair before putting them on his hips. "How long," he said hoarsely.

"About a fortnight ago," she muttered.

"That's when you got engaged. I already knew that. I want to know how long you've been with him."

"That's the question I was answering, Sebastian," Colleen retorted, a little too sharply. Sebastian knew it was a lie.

Sebastian looked over his shoulder, his blue eyes flashing with anger. "So you'd have me believe he didn't court you at all? That he just showed up out of the blue and asked you to marry him? After you and I…Maker's breath, Colleen…"

"I'm pregnant!" She blurted, causing Sebastian to stop talking.

He spun around and walked back towards her, kneeling as he took her hands in his. "P-Pregnant? How do you know?"

"I've missed my last two courses," she said softly. "When I started getting sick in the mornings a fortnight ago, I knew. I only told the head maid, but before I knew it, Robbie was here, insisting we marry right away…"

"Why Rob? What's special about him?" Sebastian worried his thumbs across Colleen's knuckles.  _A father. I'm going to be a father…Maker's breath._

"Last year…before you and I…he had gone to the Dowager Princess and asked her who would be the one to negotiate with for my hand. I didn't know of his interest, and I certainly did nothing to encourage it. But when the rumors about us really got going, he apparently decided to not follow through. I'd only met him a couple of times in passing before he proposed."

Sebastian wasn't convinced. His mind flashed back to that first time, recalling that she was no virgin. "And you're sure it's mine," he accused, brow furrowed.

Colleen pretended to be affronted. "Of course. I was a virgin!"  _Shit. He knows I'm lying. I knew he'd find out. KNEW it._

Sebastian's eyes narrowed on hers. "Lass…don't lie. I've had real virgins. I could feel and see on your face that you were  _no_  virgin. You didn't even  _flinch_."

Colleen sighed and shrugged her shoulders. "Fine. You caught me. You're right, what else can I say?" Her grey eyes pleaded for her love to at least be willing to hear her out.  _Perhaps this isn't too far gone to fix._

"I think you can start by saying things that are  _true_. I believe I deserve that much, Colleen," Sebastian spat.

Colleen started to shake as she spoke. "Fine. You want the truth, I'll give it to you. You do indeed deserve that much. I lied because I was…ashamed. Ashamed that I had demanded you wait so long when I couldn't even wait myself."

 _Finally, she's going to be honest._ "So…with who?"

Colleen stared at her hands, still being held by Sebastian. "Rob. About two months before you. Like I said, he was asking about me before you and I ever started seeing each other. Out of the blue, he proposed. I said yes, we made love to seal the betrothal. When he came to me a fortnight ago, it was to insist we go to the Chantry and be married straightaway, without a wedding."

Sebastian dropped Colleen's small hands in disgust, sitting back on the floor.  _How could I have been so foolish?_ "You were already betrothed when we made love, then…"  _Was it all a ruse to get a royal baby in her belly and extort us?_

"Sebastian, try to see it from my perspective… _please_ ," she said, looking down at her belly, "I always figured you were just going to use me for sex and that was it. I resigned myself to the fate of being one of your conquests. You did have quite the reputation, you know. We maids talk. A  _LOT_. It seemed like it was only a matter of time before you started pursuing me and as if on cue…we kissed under the willow tree." Her tone was accusatory, and it cut to the quick.

"At first, I made you wait because I thought you'd just give up and I could keep my honor intact. When we started actually falling for each other, I still knew, deep down, you'd never marry me…but to have your love was worth losing my honor." Colleen's eyes were spilling their tears freely now as she kept staring at her stomach, imagining it growing though she knew it wasn't—at least not yet.

"I had my whole future to consider. You  _know_  women can't just sleep around without consequence…so when Rob approached me before we had slept together, I saw it as a way to be a virgin for my future husband and still be able to give myself to you. It was greedy and wrong, but Sebastian…I  _do_  love you. With all my heart. I don't love Rob, but as a lowborn…he's the best match I can hope for. If we could…I'd marry you if you asked, but you know your father would never allow it. You cannot give up… _everything_ …for me. I won't allow it. I'll sacrifice my happiness—I'll marry Rob—before I cause you to lose your family, your birthright."

Sebastian got up and sat on the bed, taking Colleen's hands again, bringing her eyes back to his. "But Colleen…my position in the household is already forfeit. You  _know_  this. One wrong move and  _BAM_ —it's the Chantry for me.  _This_? This will definitely get me put in the Chantry if Father finds out, even if you marry MacSwain." He released her hands and got up, pacing for a few moments as he considered their options.

Finally he stopped, leveling a gaze at her. "Let's run away together. You and me. Wherever we go…I'll get a job in the militia and support us. Let's raise our child together and make a dozen more. Please. I still love you. I still  _need_  you."  _I got us into this, and I'm gonna get us through it._

"Sebastian…" Colleen whispered, hands flying to her still-flat-but-not-for-long belly.  _I would have as many babies as you were willing to put in this belly of mine…_

Sebastian smoothly approached and dropped to a knee again, his eyes searching hers for some sign that she wanted this. "Please, Colleen. Say yes. Be mine. You said yourself you still love me. That's all we  _need_ , isn't it?"

 _Maker, it's everything I ever dreamed of…but we're not quite seventeen…it'll be such a hard road._ "I—I—I suppose so? Yes.  _Yes_ , I'll come with you. When?" She flashed him a wide smile; the first she had allowed herself in quite some time.

Sebastian chewed his thumb. "As soon as possible, before anyone else finds out." He paused for several moments as he continued chewing on his thumbnail. Finally, he spoke. "Tonight. Nine o'clock. Meet me down under the willow where we first kissed. You'll have to pack pretty light, though."

Colleen smiled, a mixture of sweetness and sadness, as she got up, cupped his cheek and kissed him lightly. "I love you so much, Sebastian. Thank you."

Sebastian leaned into her caress, kissing her palm. "No, thank  _you_. You saved me, Colleen. Your love… _this_ …" he gently put a hand on her stomach, "they give me purpose. My grandda once told me that to protect and provide for his family is the greatest duty a man can ever shoulder. I'll see you later, my love." He smiled and left to go start packing.

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

Sebastian stood under the weeping willow tree, back against its smooth bark, as he waited for Colleen.  _She's late._ He had gotten a small rowboat, which already held his two packs. He had enough coin to get them set up in Ansburg, perhaps, if he was careful with their spending. He could join the city guard there, and several of his mother's siblings still lived there. Plus, the cost of living was cheap enough to allow them to make it on just his pay when the baby came. The thought of being out from under his father's thumb, with his love and their baby in a faraway place, warmed his heart. He smiled softly to himself as he tried to imagine whether the child would get his hair or her eyes, whether it would be a boy or girl. It almost made up for the fact that when he got in that rowboat, he would see Starkhaven for the last time.  _Am I going to regret not saying goodbye to anybody?_

He didn't notice the young boy approach him. "Your Highness?"

Sebastian nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of the lad's voice. "Yes?"

The boy thrust a folded-up piece of parchment at him. "Here. I was told that you'd be here, and to give you this. G'night!" He spun around and scrambled off. Sebastian unfolded the note, scanning its contents. The scrawl was unfamiliar and shaky, the ink smeared in a few spots:

_Sebastian,_

_I can't come with you. I'm sorry. I love you, but I cannot let you abandon your duties as a Prince of Starkhaven just for me. I hope you understand…someday. Maker preserve you._

_Love always, Colleen_

_P.S. Where I'm going, I mean not to be found. Please, don't try._

Sebastian crumpled the note in his fists, shoving it into the pocket of his jerkin. He turned and pounded his fists against the trunk of the willow as hot tears burned his eyes.  _I should've known she wouldn't come. There was something in her eyes this afternoon…hesitation._

With his back turned, Sebastian didn't see the dark object that floated downstream past where his rowboat was moored.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's some info on Madeline. Since some of you might be curious, I thought I'd just volunteer this since she's turned into a bit more of a substantial OC than I planned originally. I realize that their interaction here might have some scratching their heads about her age, because she does act quite motherly towards him. Madeline was 19 (almost 20) at her and Seb's first encounter, so that makes her 23 at present. Once she found out he was only 13 at their encounter, Madeline felt like the least she could do was to watch out for him since he seemed Void-bent on self-destruction, and they've turned into good friends as a result. As for her little aside with the "loose girls" bit? She did end up pregnant due to her "activities" whilst working at the tavern but the baby is NOT a Vael (all three brothers have had a tumble). Paul the barkeep felt bad and offered to marry her since he didn't do anything to keep her from turning tricks on his watch...in fact, he encouraged it. There you go. :-)


	9. Lost and Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Character death, description of the body. Not too squicky, but just FYI.

**_Four days later:_ **

"This is a fine mess you've gotten yourself into, Sebastian. A fine mess indeed," his father growled as he paced behind his desk. Aidan Vael chewed on his thumbnail, spitting out the fragment onto the floor before draining his glass of scotch.

"What, pray tell, did I do this time?" Sebastian asked as he rolled his eyes and brought a cup to his lips to drink.  _Och. What a hangover. Wonder why he summoned me?_

Aidan stopped his pacing and moved towards his son in a flash, seizing the hand that held the cup, discreetly sniffing it to judge its contents.  _Water. That's…a surprise_.

"Apparently, you're going to be a  _father_. A father at sixteen…well, seventeen. You'll be seventeen by the time it comes…" He released the boy's wrist as his words trailed off. Aidan returned to his familiar spot behind the desk, busying himself with paperwork. "This is just perfect, you know. This is what our enemies live for…what they eat up like  _candy_ , Sebastian."

Sebastian choked on his water, not because he was shocked at the news itself, but surprised his father hadn't  _hit_  him just then.  _Shit. How to handle this? Feign ignorance? Yes._ "I'm WHAT?" He forced his eyes to be wide as though he were genuinely stunned.

The Prince poured a dab of wax on a document he had just signed, pressing his signet ring in the still-malleable blob. "That handmaiden of your gran's. The one you've been snogging…Colleen, is it? She's pregnant. Congratulations." Aidan's words were oily and venomous.

"But we only—just  _once_ …" The lie slipped from Sebastian's mouth like a breath as he looked down.  _What is the old man's angle? Something's off._

Aidan Vael laughed bitterly as he moved on to the next document requiring his attention. "It only takes once, son, or didn't your  _wizened brothers_  teach you that either? Anyway, there's a bigger problem with this situation," he said, setting down the paper and getting up to pour himself another drink.

Sebastian scrambled; he realized this might be his chance.  _If I get his sanction, surely she'll choose me over that MacSwain wanker._ "Let me marry her, father. Make an honest woman of her…I  _love_  her…" he blurted, cringing as he realized he had said too much this time.

"Absolutely not! She was already betrothed to the MacSwain boy, and that's who she'll marry, should she ever turn up again." Aidan carelessly dumped more liquor into his glass, slamming down the decanter on the bar before draining the glass in a single gulp.

The refusal didn't really surprise him, but Aidan's last sentence hit Sebastian like a warhammer. "Wait… _WHAT_? She's  _missing_?" Sebastian said weakly, setting down his cup and grabbing the arms of his chair to steady himself against the room that was starting to spin really fast and  _Wait, why are the stars out? It's daytime…_ He managed a deep breath, exhaling slowly, bringing him back to reality.

Aidan looked over his shoulder at Sebastian, his blue eyes swimming with something Sebastian couldn't identify.  _Is that…concern? From him? _"She wasn't in her bed three mornings ago. Hasn't been seen since. How is it that you've not noticed she's gone?"

"I-I-I…" Sebastian stammered, still shocked, not sure what to say.

Aidan contined unfazed. "I've had a couple of my guard out quietly looking for her. Your gran's head maid just found a note that your girl left. Apparently it had slipped between her bed and the wall, and well…our problem just got worse," Aidan returned to his desk, scrambling through one of the drawers and plucking the note from it. He thrust it into Sebastian's hands. As Sebastian read the note, Aidan muttered, "I don't think I need to spell it out for you, do I?"

_Matilda:_

_S. and I have decided raise our child together, and that means we must leave. I'm sorry for not giving more notice, but we have to make haste before morning. Thank you for everything. I'll send word when I can._

_Colleen_

Sebastian chewed his lip as his eyes rose from the paper to meet his father's. They were shining with tears.  _Surely he doesn't…oh, Maker, he does. He thinks I have something to do with her disappearance! But this isn't the same writing as the note she had sent to me. Not even close. This is much neater, much more like…a woman's hand. I need to go get my note, to show it to him. Then he'll see… _"Father…I don't…"

Just then, the head of Starkhaven's Royal Guard burst into the study, preventing Sebastian from telling his father about  _his_  note. "Your Highness, forgive my intrusion, but the lass has been found." The man noticed Sebastian's presence a moment too late and cringed, preparing himself for a tongue-lashing.  _The lad is to be told nothing,_ he recalled the Prince telling him at the outset of his search for Colleen MacDougal.

"Very well. Send her in; I should like to talk to the girl," he responded coolly as his eyes bored holes straight through his son.  _Thank the Maker._

"Uh…well…I think it's better if you come with me, actually," Captain Ryon blurted. "She's not in any shape to make an appearance here, Your Highness."

Aidan noted the tone of Ryon's voice.  _Blasted damnation!_ He turned to Sebastian. "Get your arse to your room and Do. Not.  _Move_. Do you understand me, boy?"

Sebastian nodded and hastened toward the boys' apartments while Aidan followed Captain Ryon.

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

Captain Ryon led Aidan down into the underground corridors, to the Guards' Keep. As Ryon started to open the door, Aidan grabbed his forearm forcefully, wanting a word with his trusted captain privately before things potentially escalated. "Explain yourself, Ryon. Why would the girl be here, at the Keep?"

The Captain's deep brown eyes darted around, mainly to make sure Sebastian hadn't disobeyed his father—like usual—and followed them. "Because the lass is  _dead_ , Your Highness," he whispered quickly in Aidan's ear.

Aidan's blood ran cold as Ryon opened the door and gestured for the Prince to enter the Keep's cellar. He didn't enter, not at first; he found he couldn't make his legs—or any body part for that matter—submit to his will and he could only lean heavily on the door jamb. The Prince's brain swirled with the potential ramifications of the situation and, perhaps for the first time since he learned of Colleen's pregnancy, he found himself worrying for his son instead of solely focusing on what it would do to the Vaels politically.

 _Sweet Andraste, please tell me my boy didn't have anything to do with this…_ "Send two of your men to guard Sebastian at once. Make sure he doesn't go anywhere—and that nothing happens to him—while we figure this out," Aidan growled as he finally managed to make his body comply and crossed the threshold, striding towards the morgue. Ryon followed, but turned in the opposite direction once inside, to gather the men as his liege had requested.

Aidan looked at the corpse, and even in death he could see why Sebastian would have been so taken by her.  _Lovely girl. Such a pity._ He looked at the guardsman that found the body. "Where was she found?"

The guardsman cleared his throat nervously. He had never seen death before, and stumbling across this body on his routine patrol had shaken him to the core. "The river…downstream a couple of miles, Your Highness. She got tangled up in a fallen branch. Must've been there for a few days, based on the condition of the body." He gestured towards the exposed parts of her body.

Thankfully, the still-cold waters of the Minanter had temporarily stayed the brutal effects of decomposition. The body on the table had skin of a sickly grayish-blue, hands and feet shriveled like she had simply been in the bath too long. Her black hair was a snarl of leaves and twigs, still wet. Her once-lively grey eyes were now dull, lifeless, as they stared into nothing, the lids in their relaxed half-open state. The grayish skin was covered in scrapes and scratches but nothing horrific, and the combination of chilled, moving water had kept most predators at bay.

The Prince turned away from the body, sickened at the thought that someone might have done harm to this sweet-looking lass, sickened that deep inside her belly, there was a miniscule second dead person—his never-to-be-born grandchild. Protective instincts flared as Aidan fought to keep a calm demeanor in front of the guardsman.  _So very few people knew she was with child, even fewer knew it was Sebastian's…_

"So, no clues around her, I imagine," Aidan muttered bitterly.

The guardsman had also turned, the sight of the dead body still turning his stomach."No, sire. Whereever she entered the water…it seems she wound up quite some distance away."

"Entered?"

The guardsman intended to look at his Prince, but caught a glimpse of the body in doing so, sending another wave of nausea crashing over him. "W-we don't know if she fell or jumped in yet."

"So…she drowned." Aidan folded his arms across his chest.

"Well…we found her in the water, so it's the first thing that comes to mind, but the physician hasn't had a chance to look at the body yet. She's just a girl, though…I can't imagine anyone wanting to do anything to her on  _purpose_ …" The guardsman trailed off, swallowing thickly.

"I can do the examination  _now_ , Your Highness, if it please you," a baritone behind him boomed. Aidan turned around; Captain Ryon had returned with the Court's physician, Gil.

Aidan nodded as he glared at the three men. "Do it now. I want the examination to be done thoroughly and the lass buried without delay. Do not breathe a word about any of this to anyone save for me. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sire," the three men responded jointly.

"Guardsman, you are not needed here for this part. I have your report; if I have any further questions, I will seek you out," the physician said, recognizing that the man was likely to get sick if he were to stick around for much longer. The young man, thankful for his release, left the room hastily.

"Keep an eye on that one, Ryon," Aidan whispered. His captain nodded solemnly.

"Shall we begin then, gentlemen?" Gil started his examination. Aidan and Ryon watched intently as the man looked over Colleen's body, his practiced eyes seeking out clues that the Minanter had failed to provide the guardsman.

Aidan tuned out the physician's movements as he focused on Ryon and the investigation. "So, what's your theory, Ryon?"

Ryon watched Gil's hands ghosting over the dead girl's arms, searching for something unseen. "Well…since she was in the water it seems she likely either fell in or jumped in. We found the rowboat with Sebastian's packs in them, still moored near that ancient willow. Perhaps if she was trying to escape with Sebastian, she simply fell while trying and he couldn't save her?"

Aidan shook his head slowly as he considered the scenario. "No. Seb's a fine swimmer. He'd have gone in after her if he...the current isn't that swift at that part of the river. Do you think that perhaps she jumped in? Took her own life?" Aidan returned to watching Gil's examination.

"After the note she left? It seems unlikely," Ryon said, brows furrowed. "Matilda, your mother's head maid, did confirm that the writing on that note was Colleen's. Why would she write that note and then kill herself?"

"So we're stuck…wait, there," Aidan blurted, tilting his head as he noticed something odd on Colleen's skin. He took one of the examination instruments and pushed the still-wet hair off of her neck. On the side of it—at least the side he happened to be looking at—there were four long maroon bruise marks. Aidan glanced at Gil—who was on the opposite side of the table—curiously. The physician followed the Prince's lead and pushed aside the wet hair on his side as well. He found four more identical bruises. A closer glance at her adam's apple revealed a large, irregular shaped bruise just underneath it. Gil gently lifted one of Colleen's eyelids with his thumb, noting the petechiae in the whites. He flashed a look at Ryon and Aidan.

"Maker's breath," Ryon whispered.

Aidan dropped the instrument he had used on Colleen's hair and gasped as his eyes darted around wildly. The words didn't need to be said; the three men already knew the harsh truth.  _The lass was dead before she hit the water._

Aidan backed away as it appeared the very worst possible situation was now developing. His back hit the stone wall of the morgue, stopping his movement. The Prince's tongue was thick as he forced words past it. "I want someone to find Rob MacSwain and bring him in for questioning. And…" he paused, swallowing the growing quiver in his voice down hard, "…place my s—place  _Sebastian Vael_  under arrest." Aidan spun and walked out of the morgue, maintaining a veneer of calm until he reached the corridor to the palace, and then he broke into a run. Every moment was of the utmost importance now.

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

Sebastian sat on his bed, reading and re-reading the crumpled note that he had been given four days ago. He was desperately trying to make sense of what his father had said, of what had happened. Everything in his body, his mind, his heart screamed for him to go out and look for her but he knew that defying his father now would be perhaps his gravest mistake.

_Colleen, love, whereever did you go? Why did you stand me up after promising me you'd come? Maker, preserve my sweet girl…_

Four armored guardsmen burst into Sebastian's room, marching silently towards him.

"What is the meaning of this? You can't just barge in here like that," Sebastian spat, swinging his legs over the edge of his bed and leaping to his feet. The crumpled note was left on the bed, forgotten.

The four guards parted and Captain Ryon stepped forward, grabbing Sebastian's upper arm, hard. He spun the Prince around, seizing his wrists, clapping manacles on them as he growled, "Prince Sebastian Vael, you are under arrest for  _murder_ …"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it isn't clear, Colleen was strangled. Petechiae are broken blood vessels that often occur during manual strangulation (and sometimes other methods of asphyxiation like being smothered with a pillow). And yes, I named the court physician doing the exam after the character Gil Grissom on CSI...it's not a cross-over though. Just inspiration. ;-)


	10. Q & A?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, answers just lead to more questions.

"Prince Sebastian Vael, you are under arrest for  _murder_ ," Captain Ryon said as he slapped manacles on Sebastian's wrists.

Sebastian felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. "WHAT?  _Murder_?" Sebastian's knees buckled and the room spun. "I…I don't understand, Captain Ryon." It took a couple of moments for Sebastian to put everything together from the visit with his father this morning. The words of his father, of Captain Ryon swam through his head: " _…She wasn't in her bed three mornings ago. Hasn't been seen since…""…the lass has been found…""…She's not in any shape to make an appearance…"_

As he thought about these words, the reality of the situation finally dawned on him. The only thing that Sebastian could say as tears involuntarily slid down his cheeks was barely audible: " _Colleen_ …Maker, no…"

Captain Ryon sniffed as he spun Sebastian around to face him. "You should probably watch your mouth, lad. I wouldn't say too much right now."

Sebastian struggled against his restraints, desperate to somehow point to the note which was laying face-down on his bed. "No, Ryon, you've got it all wrong, I swear…the note, look at the _note_!" The desperation in his voice was making it break like he was thirteen all over again.

Captain Ryon spotted the paper in question and snatched it up, looking at it only casually before stuffing it inside his belt pouch. He took Sebastian's arm again and started to lead him out of his room.

Sebastian pleaded with the Captain, his shrieks filling the stonework halls. "I  _love_  her, Ryon. You know it…you know I didn't do this,  _please_ … _PLEASE_!" He tried working his wrists against the wide manacles, but it was no use. Ryon had clamped them down tight.

"Hush, boy," Ryon hissed in his ear. "I don't wanna hear another sound from you until we're at the Keep."

"What happened to her…" Sebastian's question was met with Ryon's massive hand clamping his mouth shut. Sebastian slumped a little, knowing that he was defeated.

One of the guardsmen whispered to his Captain as they led Sebastian through the hallways of the palace, careful to keep away from common areas. "Captain, I must admit that I'm unfamiliar with protocol regarding the imprisonment of royalty…"

Ryon snorted. "Do you not remember my command before we came here, Wallace? We are to keep this quiet. The lad will be held in solitary. We don't need a damned royal mixing with the general population.  _Especially_ not one who is sixteen and accused of  _murder_."

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

Aidan Vael crumpled up yet another draft and tossed it into his fireplace, watching it burst into flames before beginning another letter to the Divine. His Seneschal, Logan, entered the room hurriedly. "I have some happy news," he beamed.

The Prince looked up from his desk. "And what, pray tell, might that be?"

"Mara is in labor," Logan said, shutting the door behind him. "You should be a grandfather before the night is through, according to her nurses. For a first-time mother, the ladies say it's progressing well. Poor Corbinian is a bundle of nerves…he can't stop pacing." The Seneschal chuckled lightly as he recalled being in his shoes.  _Ahh…poor Corbinian. I remember I wanted the missus to shove the babe right back in that first night, when he wouldn't stop bawling…_

"That is good news, indeed," Aidan grumbled, returning to his work. The thought of Corbinian's nervous pacing did cause a smirk to tug at his lips, though, if only for a brief moment before other matters took center stage again. "Have you heard anything of what has happened in the last week, Logan?"

The Seneschal approached, his strides crisp and restrained. "Sadly, very little. I've been in the middle of tax calculating and collections. This time of year is the busiest for my office. But…I can only assume…the lad messed up again?"

"Messed up would be the understatement of the  _Age_ , Logan. I'll be lucky if I can save his  _life_ ," Aidan sighed. "We need to gather the sovereigns for the Chantry endowment. Please start the process of having them counted and bagged. When the bags are ready, we will lock them in the safe in my bedchamber."

Logan tilted his head at the Prince curiously. "Yes, sire. How much are we sending?"

"Three thousand sovereigns…and Sebastian, if he's—er, if the Divine will take him," Aidan said quietly.

Logan stiffened. "I don't mean to question your choices, but I'm confused. I thought you had decided to not send him to the Chantry since he was doing so well…why  _now_?"

"He's being arrested for murder as we speak," Aidan blurted, eyes full of sorrow.

Logan stumbled backwards at the shock of this news. "WHAT? Aidan, you can't be serious. The boy is eternally fucking up but  _murder_? I don't believe it."

"The evidence isn't looking good for him. The arrest was by  _my_  order." Aidan's voice was faraway, as was the look in his eyes.

Logan slid into the chair facing Aidan's desk. "Oh…Aidan…I'm sorry. That can't have been easy to do…"

"Trust me, I'd rather take my next vacation to the Void than say those words again. Something is up, Logan. I can  _feel_  it in this old gut of mine. I think if Sebastian didn't do it—and I  _don't_  believe he did—then he could be in very grave danger. Ryon will hold him in solitary, I'm sure. Sebastian will be safest there while we make a full investigation."

The Seneschal nodded absentmindedly. "That sounds like the logical thing to do. What happened, anyway?"

"That girl he was seeing—my mother's handmaiden—well…he got her pregnant. Then four days ago she went missing. One of Ryon's men found her in the Minanter this morning. I was there at the examination, Logan. The girl was  _strangled_. Dead before she hit the water. Matilda found a note that she wrote saying she and Sebastian were running away."

Logan recalled the girl in question. He had stumbled upon the couple hiding away in a remote corner of the palace gardens, the very picture of young, pure love. Logan had known the lad his whole life, and he had never seen him smile like that. "Maker's  _breath_. No wonder it doesn't look good. But something doesn't quite add up. Why would Sebastian kill her if they were running away together? Sounds like they were happy."

"Because the lass was already betrothed to Rob MacSwain. He came in here—to me—asking for her hand since she was an orphan in our employ. I told him yes," Aidan said casually.

"Why on Thedas would you  _do_  such a thing? Wasn't he actually behaving when he was seeing her?" Logan asked, flabbergasted.

"He was. Quite well. But I could never let him marry a lowborn. I figured if I broke them up in that way, instead of forcing him to leave her, then he might be more open to suggestion…specifically Lord Heatherton's girl, or even the Chantry."  _I have to make the hard decisions that nobody else wants to._

"Clever, clever…make it his choice. Good one, Sire. She's a little young for him, but a decent enough match for a son who isn't in the line of succession. And if he chose the Chantry instead? No loss."

"I honestly think it would have worked, too. Anyway, when Matilda told me a fortnight ago that the lass was with child—and that Colleen was sure that it was Sebastian's-I told the MacSwain boy to hurry up, marry her, and get her out of Starkhaven. Sebastian could have found out when they were leaving and snapped, Logan. I hate to think about it, but it's possible. I'm afraid the boy got the worst of me in that temper of his…" Aidan shuddered as he recalled some of his less-than-stellar moments. More than one were the result of jealousy.

"But MacSwain could have as well if the lass tried to break it off with him first before running off with Sebastian…"

Aidan nodded in acknowledgement. "I've got men looking for him. Trust me, he's as much a suspect as Sebastian."

The silence between the two men hung heavy. Aidan knew what Logan was dying to ask, and wished he would just spit it out already. It was, after all, the thing that had been wracking his brain since he spotted the bruising on Colleen's body.

Logan finally dared to ask the burning question on his mind. "What if he  _IS_  guilty, Your Highness? Could you order your own son's execution?"

Aidan answered with the conclusion he had repeatedly come to over the past few hours. "I don't know, Logan. I just don't know." He shook his graying head gently.

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

Two members of the Royal Guard, Stewart and Howard, knocked on the door of Brennen MacSwain, the Prince's Master of the Horse. It was a modest house, befitting of a modestly-ranked man. The garden was well-tended, a testament to the lady of the house's skill. Fetching Rob MacSwain had only been expected to take a few minutes and be hassle-free, so Captain Ryon had sent these two junior members of the order.

Brennen MacSwain answered the door personally; a rarity for a minor-ranking noble. "Guardsmen? To what do I owe this visit?"

Guardsman Stewart piped up first. "Baron MacSwain. His Highness has requested us to bring your son Rob to speak with him. Is he home?"

MacSwain glanced to his left briefly before running his hand across his stubbly chin. "I'm sorry, gentlemen, but my Robbie isn't here. I haven't seen him at all today, I'm afraid to say." MacSwain's brow furrowed as he paused momentarily. "I'm sorry, I'm going to have to ask you to leave. My…wife has come down with a fever. I really should close the door, you know how dangerous a chill draft can be."

The guardsmen exchanged glances. "'Tis true. We'll stop by later, Baron, but if Rob returns in the meanwhile, would you please send him to see the Prince? Good day," Stewart said stiffly.

Brennen MacSwain nodded in agreement to their request and shut the door as the guardsmen turned and left. He leaned against it and let out a huff. He turned and went up the stairs to his son's bedchamber.

"They were here for you, Robbie. I figure they'll be back with the Captain before day's end. You packed?"

The blonde young man nodded vigorously, hazel-green eyes wide with fear. He picked up his pack and slung it over his shoulder.

"Looks good in here…they shouldn't be able to tell that you left town. Let's get you to the docks then," Brennan growled. "Remember, you are not to talk to anyone until you get to your aunt's house. Are we clear on this?"

Rob nodded, still too nervous to speak, still too horrified by what had transpired.

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

Guardsmen Stewart and Newman returned a couple of hours later, this time with Captain Ryon. And this time, Brennen MacSwain admitted them happily.

"Your wife's feeling better, I presume," Captain Ryon asked as he crossed the threshold into the Baron's home.

"Much. Like night and day," MacSwain fibbed. He led the men into his study, where he gestured towards a small couch, flanked by two chairs. "Scotch…rum…ale, anyone?" He poured himself a hearty three fingers of scotch as the three guardsmen shook their heads. Brennen joined the men, sitting in one of the chairs. Captain Ryon was in the opposite chair.  _Better for watching his every move._

"So, Baron, as I'm sure you recall, my men were here earlier today, looking for your son Rob. Has he turned up yet? The Prince is eager to speak with him."

"No, but that's not unusual for him. Sometimes he helps Lord Heatherton's stablehands during foaling, and stays there for days at a time," Brennen said, taking a calculated sip of his liquor.

"That's wise of Heatherton to keep extra hands. Foaling can be a difficult time. You're certain that's where he is?"

"Well, to be honest, Captain, I don't keep that close of tabs on the boy anymore. Not since he came of age, anyway. He comes and goes as he pleases most of the time."

"And that doesn't concern you in the slightest?" Ryon was not buying what the Baron was trying so hard to sell him.

"The boy has always had a mean independent streak."

Captain Ryon looked at his wedding ring.  _New line of questioning._  "Well, I know about independent streaks. My oldest girl is a bit of a tomboy, really. Speaking of girls…wasn't Robbie about to marry?"

MacSwain bristled slightly at the question. "Yes…he was to be married," he answered smoothly.

Ryon arched an eyebrow. "Was? You mean the betrothal is off?"

"The lass had a note delivered here for my boy four days ago, breaking it off with him to run off with Sebastian Vael. Here," the Baron said, producing the note from his pocket, "This is what the girl wrote."

_Robbie,_

_It pains me to do this, but I am breaking our engagement. I have been cheating on you with Sebastian Vael and am pregnant with his child. We are running away. I know he's a bad person, but he's royalty. My baby will have everything it desires if I play my cards right._

_Colleen._

There was something about the note—not the wording (which was definitely suspect), but the penmanship—that struck Captain Ryon as odd.  _I've seen that hand before._  "That's unfortunate. And you say your son is constantly in and out…does he even know?"

"No, Captain. Clueless." Brennen drained his glass. "Too bad the girl went missing though…you think Sebastian Vael had anything to do with it?"

 _Gotcha._ "How did you know the girl was missing?"

"Ah…just something my servant mentioned, I guess," Brennen said, running a hand on the back of his neck.  _Either you did it or you know who did._

"Well, it's my policy not to discuss any ongoing investigations. Thank you for having us, Baron MacSwain. And please…when Rob comes home…let us know right away. We just want to ask a couple of quick questions."

"Certainly, gentlemen," MacSwain oozed as he led the guardsmen out of his house and for the second time that day, he let out a sigh of relief as soon as the door was shut.

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

**_Later that evening:_ **

Captain Ryon handed the crumpled note from Sebastian's room and the note given to him by MacSwain to the Prince. Aidan looked at them, brows knotting in confusion. He pulled out Matilda's note. Ice-blue eyes darted back and forth, from note to note, as he mentally compared them. He let out a huff and handed them to Ryon. The captain inspected them for himself and laid them down on the desk, collapsing into the chair opposite the Prince and covered his eyes with one broad hand.

"Those notes were written by two different hands," Ryon said, letting out a huge sigh of relief.

Aidan mirrored the relief. "Aye. Not even close. This one the Baron gave you is downright laughable. I wonder if he didn't make it up after your men left his house earlier today!"

"So…it seems Sebastian is off the hook, doesn't it?"

"Certainly seems that way. The Maker has smiled upon that boy again, Ryon."

"Shall I release him, then?"

"Well that depends…were you able to bring the MacSwain boy in for questioning?"

"No. He was gone. Brennen said he didn't know where he was…said he wasn't sure where he might have gone. Then he made up some bullshit about Robbie probably being off helping Lord Heatherton with foaling. Did he forget that Heatherton hates horses?"

Aidan laughed for the first time in days. "Do you believe him? Or perhaps…do you think he believes himself?"

Ryon fidgeted with his gauntlet. "Not one bit, either way. Here's what I think…I think he helped the boy run. I think the lass came to tell Robbie she was leaving with Sebastian, he flipped out and strangled her. Then either he or his father forged a note and had it sent to Sebastian."

Aidan ran a hand through his hair. "Sounds plausible. Do you think they were  _trying_  to frame Sebastian for this?"

"Now that, I'm having a hard time deciding on."

"Then…no, don't release him. Keep Sebastian in solitary until we find Rob MacSwain."

"Aye, Your Highness. Did you still want me to continue tracking down Colleen's father?"

Aidan threw up his hands, exasperated. "Do we even know who he is?"

The Captain smirked. "There are rumors…but nothing concrete. I'll do some asking and report back."

"Thank you, Ryon. Who do you have guarding Sebastian's cell?"

"Wallace and Fordham. My two best men."

"Would you trust them with your own life?"

"Unquestionably. Nobody will get to his cell without going through them, and any bastard stupid enough to try is welcome to it."

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

**_Meanwhile, in Starkhaven Keep's holding cells:_ **

"Wallace," Sebastian hissed through the small barred opening in his cell door.

"For the last time, Your Highness, I'm not going to smuggle you in any alcohol. No ale, no rum, no nothin'. An' no whores, neither," the guard sighed, exasperated.

"I was just giving you a hard time with that, Wallace. This is serious though. I'd like—I'd like to _see_ her," Sebastian said, trailing off at the end.

Wallace grimaced.  _I doubt the boy's ever seen a body._ "I…don't think that's a very good idea, Your Highness."

"Please. I need to. I need…to make it real," the boy mumbled. "It seems like a very bad dream at the moment."

The other guard, Fordham, broke in. "Have you ever seen…"

"No, but I've heard some of the men in the militia talk about bodies that have been fished out of the Minanter while I was at target practice. I know it won't be pretty…but I need to say goodbye."

Wallace looked at his partner, Fordham, and shrugged, giving a look that said  _dare I?_  Fordham nodded. "I'll cover you," he whispered hoarsely. Wallace fumbled for the key to the cell and unlocked the door, cringing at the loud metallic  _clink_ that seemed as though it would wake the dead. He started to pull the door slowly, before realizing if he just whipped the door open it wouldn't creak nearly as much. He grabbed Sebastian's arm and led him to the morgue.

Upon arrival, Wallace led Sebastian into the exam room. He looked around and spotted the body, recognizable by the long black hank of hair that had slipped into view from below the sheet covering the rest of the corpse. Sebastian caught sight of the body a moment later and gasped. Wallace looked over at him, a pained expression on his battle-weary features.  _He's going to lose it. Absolutely lose it. Poor lad._

"Are you sure—"

"Yes," Sebastian replied, trying his best to be strong. Wallace led him forward and removed his restraints, gesturing for Sebastian to pull back the sheet when he was ready to do it. The guardsman stood behind the young man, ready to catch him if— _when_ —he fainted.

Hands trembling violently, Sebastian's fingers found the upper edge of the sheet and slowly pulled it back. He got it down as far as her eyebrows and stopped, turning back into Wallace. "I can't…I can't," he mumbled as tears threatened to fall. "You pull it back…"

"You wanted this, Sebastian. You wanted to say goodbye," Wallace gently reminded his young prisoner.

Sebastian looked at him and swallowed hard, and then turned back to Colleen's body. He quickly pulled down the sheet far enough to expose her head and neck. A choked sob escaped him as his hands flew to his mouth to stifle the scream that threatened to loose itself. After a few moments of horrified silence, he stroked her hair, picking out a couple of the leaves and twigs still tangled in it. His brows furrowed as he brought his hand to her cold cheek, cupping it lightly. Sebastian hesitated only a moment there before noticing the bruises on her neck. His nostrils flared and jaw set as his hands touched those fatal marks.

Wallace noticed that Sebastian's hands were too small to have made the bruises.  _I'll get in so much trouble for bringing him here, but Cap will want to know the boy couldn't have done it._

Sebastian reached for her hand under the sheet, gripping it and bringing it to his chest. "I'm so sorry…" he sniffled hard, prompting Wallace to hand him a handkerchief, "I failed you. I failed our child." He rested his other hand gently on Colleen's belly. "It was my duty to protect you and I utterly failed you…"

Wallace stiffened at those words, unaware that the girl had been pregnant.  _That's why he's a suspect…do they think he killed her to cover it up? This isn't the reaction of a cold-blooded murderer, that's for sure._

Sebastian's whisper turned more fierce as he stared at the bruises on her neck. "I swear to you, my love…I  _will_  find whoever did this to you…and I  _will_  make them pay with their own life. If it takes the rest of the days that the Maker sees fit to give me, I  _will_  see it done." He released Colleen's hand, pulled the sheet back up, and let out a deep breath as he put his hands behind his back. The guardsman's face was grim as he fastened the manacles on Sebastian's wrists again, noting that the boy had struggled against them so hard already that his skin was raw.

"You handled that well, Sebastian," Wallace whispered as he led the boy back into his cell, locking the door once more. "Trust me, there's not a one of us here that doesn't want to see the sonuvabitch who did this hang. And we didn't even know she was pregnant. That fills me with more sorrow than words can express. Good night, Your Highness."

"Thank you, Wallace," was the faraway response that emanated from the dark cell.

Fordham shot Wallace a questioning look.  _He didn't do it,_  Wallace mouthed as he gestured towards his hand to indicate that the marks didn't match up. Fordham responded with a thin-lipped smile that was a mix of relief and frustration. One question was answered, but it had led to many more.


	11. Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aidan makes a decision.
> 
> I remember Daddy´s hands, working 'til they bled.  
> Sacrificed unselfishly, just to keep us all fed.  
> If I could do things over, I´d live my life again.  
> And never take for granted the love in Daddy´s hands.  
> Daddy's hands were soft and kind when I was cryin´.  
> Daddy´s hands, were hard as steel when I´d done wrong.  
> Daddy´s hands, weren´t always gentle  
> But I´ve come to understand.  
> There was always love in Daddy´s hands.
> 
> -Holly Dunn, "Daddy's Hands"

**_Two weeks later:_ **

There was a soft knock on the study door. Aidan got up and opened it, revealing Princess Andra, holding a tiny swaddled bundle. "Your grandson humbly requested an audience with you, Your Highness." She smiled and stepped into the room, and Aidan closed the door gently behind her. She turned to face him, holding the baby out for Aidan to take. As Aidan took the bundle into his arms, Andra gently peeled back the baby's swaddling to reveal the face of the tiny boy to her husband.

"Little Malcolm," Aidan whispered, the words barely able to squeeze by the lump in his throat, as he gazed upon the wriggling mass. All of his youngest son's troubles were forgotten then, as Aidan Vael held the next generation in his muscled arms, the boy's head fitting easily in the curve of his broad palm. He saw the scant tuft of auburn hair and smiled broadly.  _So much hope, such promise. A seventh generation ensured._

"Now sweetheart, remember that Corbinian wants us to call him Colum, just like we did for your father," she said softly, warmed by the sight of her husband holding the tiny baby. The sight of the hulking mass of a man that was her husband totally disarmed by a wee one never failed to tug at her heartstrings. She wished she could capture that moment in a portrait and pull it out when times were hard.  _And Maker, I can't imagine times being harder for us than right now._

A wide grin spread across Aidan Vael's face as he tickled the baby's chin with a wide-tipped finger. "Right. Sorry… _Colum_ …you requested an audience, and I have granted it, wee one. Whatever can this old man do for you?"  _Father…now I know. You were so hard on Alec and me, but when Corbinian was born you were a new man. Softer. Kinder…because you knew that you had done your duty. I was grown, I had provided the next generation. You could finally relax a bit. Corbinian has done that for me. Maker, thank you for this blessing. Now more than ever._

As Aidan Vael placed a gentle kiss on the baby's forehead, Andra could have sworn she saw ten years fall off of her husband's face  _just like that_. She sidled up to Aidan and wrapped a slender arm around his waist, snuggling up to him as he watched his grandson fall asleep in his arms.

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

**_Later that day:_ **

"Your Highness…the situation surrounding Colleen…it's worse than we thought," Captain Ryon growled as he sank into a chair.

Aidan snarled his fingers in his graying hair. "Of course it is…" he trailed off.

Ryon started to speak, as though he were reciting a memorized speech. "Her mum passed when Colleen was only two and had apparently been raising her alone. Her father came out of the woodwork only long enough to abandon her on the Chantry steps, and she was raised there until your mother took her."

"I'm familiar with that part, Ryon. Tell me something I don't know, if you can," Aidan grumbled, frustrated by the lack of progress in the case.

Ryon took a deep breath, raising his eyebrows. "Well…after we  _found_  Colleen, I recognized her—well, to be more specific, I recognized the girl's mother. Her name was Kara Murdoch. I used to frequent the brothel before I found my Mary and trust me, the sight of a woman that beautiful running around with a wee one on her hip in  _that_  place left an impression. Anyway, I went to the brothel and asked Madame Drusilla about the raven-haired beauty with the little girl, whatever happened to her. Madame Drusilla told me she died and the girl was taken by her father. Turns out the lass' father was a noble.  _Lord Renly Harimann_."

"Fuck…this is bad…this is really bad," Aidan muttered under his breath as Captain Ryon discussed his findings.

Ryon continued. "Madame Drusilla said that Colleen's name was originally Shannon. Harimann used to stop by once a month and spend a day with Kara and his daughter. Gave 'em gold, gifts…they were well taken care of."

"Hmm…I do remember Harimann used to visit frequently and then just  _stopped_ ," Aidan mumbled.

"When Kara passed, he told Drusilla he was taking the child back to Kirkwall with him and based on the relationship he had established with the child, Drusilla said that she didn't argue. Nobody knew he was married, or that he already had kids. But now we know where she really wound up. Drusilla honestly thought the lass was in Kirkwall—even if she  _had_  seen Colleen around Starkhaven, she said she likely wouldn't have figured it out because of the name change."

Aidan spun his signet ring around his finger. "Shit. A name change. Of  _course_. Harimann had to know the Chantry would give the child a new identity, that it would cover his sins. How'd she end up with  _MacDougal_  for a surname?"

Captain Ryon got up and crossed to the bar, pouring himself some scotch and returning to his seat. "Well, the Revered Mother would've allowed the lass to use her own, of course. That's the custom for abandoned children..."

Aidan groaned as he slapped his forehead. "Of  _course_ …and the Revered Mother is Renly's aunt, Rena MacDougal…and she stayed so close to Colleen through the years…"  _Maker, you might as well strike me down right now and get it over with._

"Precisely. I wouldn't be surprised if Renly shows up here demanding blood once he finds out his daughter is dead. He could hide behind his aunt's affection for Colleen—wouldn't even have to admit the girl was his. He probably made the Revered Mother stay in contact with Colleen, just to keep tabs on the girl."

"This is an unmitigated disaster, Ryon. This is worse than my worst nightmare, you know that?"

Ryon drained his glass. "Well…at least Sebastian is innocent," he said softly.

Aidan gave a thin smile. "But we're no closer to getting our hands on the actual culprit and the people—especially my servants—are getting upset that it looks like whoever did this is going to get away with it. Any word from your eyes in the other principalities? Where would MacSwain send the boy, anyway?"

"I would imagine he'd place the boy with a relative, but the MacSwain's are a…numerous lot, Sire. Not only do they have relations in the Free Marches, but it's my understanding that there are a few in Ferelden as well."

Aidan took a deep breath, exhaling with a loud hiss. "So…Rob MacSwain could be in Ferelden? That's  _just_   _perfect_. We'll never find him, you know—not if he managed to get to Ferelden. It's been two weeks since the body was found, Ryon. If we haven't spotted him yet…" he trailed off, a look of defeat in his eyes.

Ryon threaded his hands behind his head. "So what now, Sire? We give up? What of Sebastian…do you think he's still in danger?"

"Well, I can't leave my boy in solitary confinement when he's innocent. I can't let him run free either…I imagine with his girl dead, there's nothing stopping him from going right back into his careless  _habits_. Wouldn't take much for an angry citizen or agent of Harimann to pick off a drunken teenager. And I can't marry the boy off now either…just the accusation of murder will keep Heatherton—or any other noble—from agreeing to it."

He got up from his chair, walking over to the bar and draining the bottle of scotch into his glass. Aidan looked at the bottle for several moments, brows furrowed, before whipping it into the fireplace, where it shattered. The remaining alcohol vapors caused a mini fireball to form for a moment, startling Captain Ryon. As he watched the flames, Aidan's mind flew back to a simpler time, back before he bore the titles like  _Prince_  or  _Father_. He remembered it as if it were yesterday, the scene playing itself out in the flames:

" _Aidan, please. Don't act rashly," Colum Vael pleaded, grabbing his son's arm. "I did what I had to. Someday, you'll be a father. You'll understand how hard it is to make these decisions."_

" _But you had her executed, father…"_

" _Son, her entire family were traitors, planted by Orlais. Spies. She didn't love you…she only wanted to get close to you. She might even have been assigned to kill you. I couldn't take that chance."_

" _You could have banished them…why kill them?"_

" _Aidan…my boy…you have to have a firm hand when dealing with the enemy. You must be prudent even with your allies. You must not allow plots to fester and spread. If I had let them go…they would have simply come back stronger. I have to think of not only you but your mother and Alec and Anna…and Starkhaven."_

Aidan stared blankly at the dancing flames as he mulled over his father's words and how Colum, too, had been faced with a dire situation and tried to do his best. "I promised him, Ryon. I  _promised_  my father I wouldn't put him there, even though he so desperately deserved it at the time…but  _Maker_ …I'm not sure I have a choice…"

"What are you talking about, Your Highness?"

Aidan shot Ryon a sideways glance. "The Chantry. I promised my father I wouldn't put Sebastian in the Chantry. My father made a good point; what if something happened to the one or both of the older boys? If Sebastian were wrapped up in vows that couldn't be broken, Starkhaven could be stuck without an heir because Maker knows my brother's lad is…a bit simple." Aidan paced in the middle of the room, scratching his stubbly chin.

He stopped and threw his hands in the air, looking at the sky, searching for a simple answer that never came. "We have to put him in the Chantry, Ryon. We have to send Sebastian to Val Royeaux. It's the only way to protect him if Harimann comes hard. I've known Renly for years…he may not come after us today, or next month. Heck, he might not come in a year, but he will come. Mark my words, Lord Renly Harimann will come after the Vaels for this. It's just a matter of time until he gathers the support to do it. We need to find out how many friends he has in the Free Marches. We need to pick away at those connections to weaken him."

"You think he has enough support here in Starkhaven to stage a coup?" The Captain started to put his feet up on the desk, as he was wont to do in his own office, but caught himself, nearly falling out of the chair.

"No, and that's what will likely keep him away for a little while. But if we don't do something with Sebastian—if he's allowed to roam free while the murderer is on the loose—it won't matter if he's innocent. As of now, Colleen MacDougal was murdered and nobody knows who did it or why. But the people will be mad once the details come out. I know you and your men are discreet, Ryon, but word will get out somehow, someday. The Prince's son got a girl pregnant and she suddenly ends up murdered…if that spreads, if enough people believe in it…"

"And Renly Harimann won't need outside help, he'll have people volunteering right here at home…" Ryon uttered, horrified.

"Precisely. And you know his conniving bitch of a wife won't let this go, either. She's been angling to get that daughter of theirs married into our family since she was born."

"Never considered her for Sebastian?"

"Maker,  _no_! That would be cruel and unusual punishment and I don't want marriage ties with Harimann! He's a shady sonuvabitch. Like I said, I've known him for years.  _Too many_  years. He's been in Kirkwall for a decade now, and I'm glad for it."

Captain Ryon chuckled. "Relax, Sire. I don't like Renly either. It was an ill-conceived jest."

Aidan gave a thin smile. "You know…I kind of always knew it would come down to this? I had Seneschal Logan prepare the endowment a couple of weeks ago—when Sebastian was...first involved—but I didn't want to send it before I knew how this situation would pan out."

He wandered across the room to the large family portrait, now about 5 years old. His eyes fixated on the then-twelve-year-old Sebastian. The boy hadn't hit his first growth streak yet, hadn't lost quite all of the baby fat in his cheeks, didn't have stubble on his chin or a kilt 'round his waist yet. The innocent boy was frozen in time, in oil paints, and Aidan wished he could reach back to when that portrait was made and do something—anything—if it could have prevented this.

"Your Highness—"

As Aidan stared at the family portrait, he continued to speak like a man possessed by the urge to tell every secret he had ever hidden. "I've had that endowment set aside since Sebastian was six weeks old. Six.  _Weeks_. As soon as I knew the little guy would survive, I just…wanted to get rid of him…Maker, what was wrong with me? Look at him!" He gestured towards the little boy in the painting—an angelic, bronze-haired, blue-eyed, tender-hearted lad.

Aidan was whispering now, not even really talking to Ryon as much as he seemed to be confessing to the family captured in that painting. "I didn't ever give him a chance; I just focused on  _Corbinian_ …on making sure my successor was well-groomed. I even ignored Gavin more than a father should, and he's a boy that is hard to ignore. No wonder my father was always on my case about Sebastian, about the Chantry. He saw in that boy…something I refused to let myself see…" he trailed off, turning away from the painting and slumping down on his chaise.

"Wallace told me about his reaction in the morgue, Ryon. I know now that Sebastian truly had found himself in Colleen, in the idea of being a father. I should have been the one to explain duty and responsibility and purpose and sacrifice to him.  _Not_  my father.  _Not_  his brothers.  _Me_. That's what my father did for me, and I failed to do that for my own boy." He buried his face in his hands, elbows propped on his knees.

"Now look…he's rotting in a solitary confinement cell as an innocent, and the only way I can get him out of this situation is to send him away to idle his life away in the Chantry. I feel so…helpless. My only solutions to his problems are to take away his purposes, his duties…but would it be better to let him be exposed to undue risk? If he were to live his life, he might find that kind of happiness again…but he'd also be an easy target for Harimann or anybody else that wished him harm."

Captain Ryon rose from his chair and stood in front of the fireplace, placing a hand on the mantle and putting his forehead against it. "I think the Chantry is best.  _Honestly_. Someday he'll understand, Sire. When do you want to move out?"

Aidan leaned back, folding his arms across his chest. "I don't dare leave town now, Ryon, and I don't want you to leave my side…just in case. Can we send him with Wallace?"

"Yes, and I suggest sending Fordham as well. They've been the ones guarding his cell all this time. We can get him on the road tonight, get a good lead just in case Harimann already knows something and is on the way. We can have Sebastian in Val Royeaux within a week if the weather holds."

Aidan chewed on his thumbnail absentmindedly. "Do it. But…please bring him up here to say goodbye first. Your men will take him at midnight."

"Very well, Sire," Captain Ryon said, rising and giving a slight, stiff bow before returning to the Keep.

Aidan rose, stretching his back. It had been a long day in the study, and it was going to be a long night. He peeked his head outside of the study and summoned a servant, giving orders to gather the family.

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

Aidan looked at his family, who had managed to gather in his study in a surprisingly short order considering the size of the palace. None knew why they were there.  _Not yet._  The Prince of Starkhaven cleared his throat nervously and started to explain the situation.

"Family…I called you here to break some bad news…you all are aware of the situation with Sebastian. It's gotten quite a bit worse. While Sebastian is innocent, we have not managed to find the person whom we believe to be responsible. I can't—I  _won't_  let him sit in solitary confinement, or be under house arrest when he is innocent. So…I've decided to send him to Val Royeaux…to be invested as a Brother of the Chantry."

Andra gasped and fell to her knees. Meghan fainted, and Corbinian caught her. Gavin wanted to punch his father. The girls, Aileen and Hannah, started crying and hugging each other. The air in the study grew thick with accusations and sorrow. " _You promised you wouldn't do this, Aidan…" "…if your father were still with us…" "Daddy, will I ever see Sebby again?" "…so we're giving away one of the best archers in Starkhaven to the Chantry…" "…the boy just lost his love, and you're doing THIS?"_

Nobody dared approach Aidan, to consider how this affected  _him_. He was the  _father_. He  _had_  to make the tough decisions. He  _had_  to be the hard one, the unapproachable one, the one who kept order when nothing in the world made sense…and not only for the Vaels, but all of Starkhaven. It was a thankless job that sucked away his life, made it nearly impossible to have the relationship he wanted with his family and it had never showed more than now.

They were banded together in this moment, and he was left to be an observer.

There was a knock at the door, and Captain Ryon poked his head in. Aidan nodded for him to let Sebastian enter. Immediately, the sixteen-year-old was smothered in affection from all of the girls, even Meghan who had finally gotten the cobwebs shaken from her head.

"Sebastian…please sit down," Aidan said softly. Sebastian sat on the couch, flanked by his mother and grandmother, who were holding him and stroking his hair and cheek, eyes shining with unspilled tears.  _Maker…no…_

Sebastian could only stare bitterly at the patterned rug under his feet. "So I'm to be executed then? For a crime I didn't commit? Figures." Meghan Vael fainted again.

"WHAT? NO! That's not why I had Ryon bring you here. I had you brought here to explain my reasons—"

"He's sending you to the Chantry, Seb," Gavin interrupted, voice icy. Aidan's eyes shot daggers at him, but he did not say anything to his middle son.

Sebastian shot a glance to Gavin, then his father, his mouth agape as his mournful blue eyes filled with tears. "But I…I'm innocent… _WHY_? I…I thought I was doing better, Father…I was really, really trying…to be better…" he whispered as Andra rubbed his back.

Aidan's heart broke at his son's utterly despondent plea. He fought to maintain his composure which made his words sound unusually cold, even for him. "Sebastian…the situation is far more dire than we thought. This is for your own good. I know you're innocent—we all do. But with the real killer still at large…I am sending you away so that you're not such an easy target for people who might want to take out their frustrations on you."

Corbinian chose this moment to speak up. "Are you sending him away to protect him or  _US_?" He accused coldly. "I think I get what this really is, Father. Put the problem child away so the nobility won't rise up against us…isn't that really it?" Gavin nodded vigorously, approving of his older brother's words.

Aidan didn't respond. He didn't know what to say. Corbinian's words were sharp…and  _true_ , to an extent. He felt that by sending Sebastian to Val Royeaux, he would delay Harimann's inevitable strike against the Vael family. In the Chantry, the Grand Cathedral? No Maker-fearing man would  _dare_  strike down an invested Brother.  _If Harimann, if nobody else finds him, perhaps they will let this go._

And so Aidan sat, watching his family rally around his youngest boy—poor, sweet Sebastian—as his time in Starkhaven reached zero hour. He watched as his older sons helped Sebastian pack the one chest of possessions he would be allowed to keep as a Brother. He watched as Sebastian gave his grandmother a golden locket with a miniature portrait of himself inside.  _I wanted to save it for your Name Day, Gran, but I guess I won't be here,_ he said to her as Meghan Vael dissolved into tears. He watched as every member of the family got their turn to give Sebastian a hug and say goodbye as he made his way to the carriage bound for Val Royeaux. He watched Sebastian get on that carriage…and the only goodbye Aidan got from him was an icy glare.

The Starkhaven Chantry bells tolled twelve times. The carriage started off on cue for the week-long trip to Val Royeaux. The Vael family stood together, watching the carriage, waving at Sebastian as his driver steered the horses away from the back of the Keep, except for Aidan.

 _Figures,_ Sebastian thought,  _Father_   _can't even stand to watch me be taken away forever._

Aidan walked, alone, back to the one place in the palace where he felt comfortable. He poured himself three fingers of scotch and sat as his desk, picking up the first piece of unanswered correspondence. The  _Prince_ —the _Father_ —never went on holiday.

_I'm the father. I had to make the hard decision. I hope someday he—and the others—can forgive me for it. I hope the sacrifice pays off._

**_END ACT I_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for my dad; his life has been full of hard decisions. He was a much 'harder' man before my brothers started knocking up their poor wives left and right. Now he's a big marshmallow and always telling my brothers to just enjoy their kids while they can. That transformation, and the song at the outset, was a major inspiration for this chapter.
> 
> In my head, the decision to send Seb to the Chantry was never a huge showdown...at least not externally. I've always envisioned the move to be a loving act that Seb just couldn't understand until he reached that level of inner calm that we see when he's in Kirkwall.


	12. The Visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin reveals a secret, Aidan gets a visitor, and Sebastian gets caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
> 
> From here on out, nearly every chapter will have multiple scene shifts. The scenes, unless noted otherwise, take place simultaneously.

**_Starkhaven, three months later:_ **

Gavin sat at the bar, motioning for Madeline to come over with a fresh tankard of ale as he finished the last gulp of the one in his hand.  _He should be right here beside me…I miss my little drinking buddy._

"Haven't seen you here in a long time, Gavin," Madeline chided lightly. "Your brothers either. I mean, I know Corbinian has that new baby, but where is Sebastian?" She picked up the empty mug. When she replaced it with a fresh tankard of ale, some of the suds sloshed over the side.

"The Chantry," Gavin muttered bitterly as Madeline reached for a rag to sop up the spilled ale. She paused and blanched as his words sunk in.

"So he finally did it. Your father finally banished him," Madeline hissed as she daubed at the puddle of ale with a dingy grey cleaning rag.

"By the way—I should have mentioned this before—but I think it goes without saying that this is to stay between us. People aren't to know where Seb is…but you were close to him. I thought you should know. I'm sorry that I didn't get here sooner to tell you, but I've been busy with my duties in the Seneschal's office," Gavin sighed.

"My lips are sealed, Gavin. I don't wish to endanger Sebastian any more than you…but why now? After all this time? It was because of  _her_ , wasn't it?" Madeline whispered as she tried to act like she was doing busy work to keep from raising the ire of her barkeep-turned-husband.

Gavin rolled his eyes. "He says he did it to protect Sebastian…but I think he was looking to protect the Vael name more than anything. I mean, if he was innocent, and people knew it, why would he need to be sent away? Father said something about there being more to the story than we knew…but I can't imagine it would be something so bad that Seb needed to be banished for his own good."

Madeline stepped away, replacing another patron's empty mug. She returned moments later, a puzzled look on her face. "The lass was an orphan, wasn't she?"

"Yeah…that's what doesn't make sense. I mean, not to be crude, but in the grand scheme of things…she was a nobody," Gavin grumbled.

Madeline again busied herself, choosing to pull the wash basin over closer to Gavin so they could continue talking. "Maybe they found her parents, or something else about her past that was…unsavory. I'm sure your father has his reasons. He has always acted in the best interest of Starkhaven. And as his son, I'm sure you can appreciate that the interests of Starkhaven and the interests of his family must overlap."

"Yeah, yeah," Gavin muttered as he took a long drink from his tankard. "I just can't believe it's been three months already. I still remember that look in his eyes as the carriage left. He looked so hurt, so sad."

Madeline turned the last of the now-clean mugs upside down to air-dry on a rack of vertical wooden pegs. "He'd been through a lot, Gavin. He had lost his girl, their baby…sat in the Keep for weeks…I feel so badly for him. Have you heard anything from him?" She wrung out the greyed rag and wiped the top of the bar with quick, circular motions.

"I got a letter a couple of weeks ago. He is… _resistant_  to the Chantry life," Gavin mumbled, letting out a light laugh at the end.

Madeline plopped the washrag into the basin again with a sigh. "Why am I not surprised?" She roughly wiped her damp hands on her apron before tightening the bow at the back, her blue eyes boring into Gavin's. "Ah, maybe he'll come around to it. Maybe he'll find peace there…because I tell you, Gavin, Sebastian is a very troubled lad."

Gavin broke from Madeline's intense gaze, staring into his mug. "I know. And I know that out of everybody in Starkhaven, you probably knew him the best. You knew what made him so angry, what drove him to drink and whore around. He said to me once that he did it because he felt unloved by Father, mostly. Do  _you_  really think that's why?"

Madeline's thin brows furrowed as she leaned over the bar in front of Gavin, propping herslef on her elbows. She looked down, away, as she recalled the many conversations she had with the young man over the years, nodding slightly for several moments before finally speaking. "Aye, I do. He's a very sensitive young man. He's got a lot of love to give, and never quite seemed to receive it back the way he deserves, particularly from your father. And after your grandfather died…well, I'm just glad he had Colleen, even though it was only for a little while. I don't even want to think about what he would have done without her in his life. I didn't see him here for weeks at a time, he was so happy with her. I hope your Father finds the sonuvabitch that actually did this so Sebastian can rest easy. He must be going nuts, stuck in Val Royeaux, unable to do anything to avenge her death." She pushed herself back upright, scanning the patrons for any raised mugs. Spotting one, Madeline grabbed a clean tankard, filled it, and took it to him, returning with the empty one.

"Ranting about that was a good half of the letter I got from him. I have no doubt that if Sebastian were able, he'd be out there looking for that MacSwain kid right now."  _Shit. Corbinian begged me to keep that quiet. Oh well. Madeline loves Sebastian as much as any of us. She sees and hears a lot here; maybe she has heard something…or will let me know if she ever does._

"Oh, so they  _do_  think Robbie did it, then," Madeline whispered.

Gavin lowered his voice, bringing his tankard up to his mouth.  _Hmm. Maybe she alreay knows something…_  "It sure seems like his dad was covering for him, yeah. You haven't, uh, heard anything here about either Brennen or Rob, have you?"

"Unfortunately, no. Brennen isn't really a frequent patron here. But I'll keep my ears open and send for you straightaway if I learn anything." Madeline paused and looked at Gavin.  _That cropped auburn hair, those dark brown eyes…such a handsome young man…I wonder why he hasn't been betrothed yet?_  "You've spent an awful lot of your life protecting Sebastian, haven't you," she continued softly as she placed a gentle hand on his forearm.

Gavin gave the barmaid a thin, bitter smile. "Aye. Corbinian couldn't get away with half the stuff I did for Seb. Being the son of and now the actual Crown Prince put him in a difficult spot. But it was actually his idea to bring Seb to you. We thought he was going to be sent off to the Chantry sooner than he actually was. Grandda had something to do with that, I'm sure of it."

"Well, Sebastian is quite the archer, isn't he? Perhaps your Grandda wanted him as the head of the Royal Archers."

"You have no idea. He can hit the eyeslit of a helmeted soldier on the ground from the top of the palace. He  _should_  be leading the archers, Maddie, and I think you're right in thinking that was why Grandda was so adamant against putting Sebastian in the Chantry.  _That's_  his place—Commander of the Starkhaven Royal Archers—not the Chantry." Gavin shook his head.  _Such talent, all going to waste in those stupid Cathedral walls._

"Well…maybe now that his future is determined, perhaps you can finally settle upon your own? I can't help but note that you're twenty and not yet betrothed," Madeline said with a mischevious glint in her eyes.

Gavin looked away, blushing. "Err…it hasn't been a priority of Father's…nor of mine. I could take or leave it, to be honest."

"You don't want a wife, no babies? And I hear Corbinian's wee one is such a pretty babe. I bet yours would be even better looking, especially if you got yourself a prettier wife than that Tantervale cow your father saddled Cor with."

"I feel my energies are better spent in service to Starkhaven. I enjoy the work I do with the Seneschal." Gavin spoke as though he had rehearsed this in front of his looking glass for hours. "Corbinian says that once Logan is out, I'll likely be made the Seneschal. The position entails long hours in the office. Not exactly the proper situation for a family man, I'm afraid."

Madeline smirked at the middle Vael son. "But you can do that  _and_  have a family, Gavin. Pretty much every job requires the man to spend hours away from his home. What's the  _real_  reason?"

"I…I don't think my…um… _lifestyle_   _preferences_  are very suited to family life, Maddie…"

Madeline leaned in close, dropping her voice even lower. "Oh…well, I did hear about you and Lord Ferguson's boy, but I didn't believe it. I mean…you and I…we had  _relations_ …do you mean to say…"

"That I enjoy the company of men as well as women?  _Yes_. I don't wish give that up, nor do I wish to take a wife and have that kind of scandal thrust upon her," Gavin admitted, letting out a huge breath after he finished talking. It was the first time he had actually said the words aloud.

"But what if something happens to Corbinian? To his boy?  _You_  could be the new Crown Prince…or Prince. If you believe your—how did you say it,  _energies_ —are better spent in service to your country, you owe it to Starkhaven to take a wife and have a family. As a royal, you certainly wouldn't be the first to lead a secret second life. It's pretty much expected, Gavin. Please. Consider it. Consider taking a wife."

Gavin thought long and hard as he pondered the remnants of ale in his mug. "Maddie, you forget your place, at times. Were you anyone else, I'd have you arrested for those treasonous statements. But…you make a good point. I shall  _consider_  it. I don't know who I would become engaged to, though."

Madeline blanched at the slight threat, but recovered enough to give the middle Vael son a slight wink. "All you have to do is tell your father. I'm sure he already has several lasses in mind."

"Knowing him, you're probably right. I'll bring it up as soon as possible." Gavin drained his mug, smiled, and plunked down a small pile of silver—far more than his tab required. Before Madeline could count it and protest, Gavin was already gone.  _Damned stubborn man,_ she muttered to herself as she pocketed the extra coins.

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

Aidan Vael stopped pacing when his Captain of the Royal Guard walked into his office. "Any news, Ryon?"

"No. My contacts in Tantervale, Ansburg, and Kirkwall all deny seeing Rob there. The men I sent to Ostwick should be back before nightfall, but I'm not holding my breath for any revelatory news. I've had some eyes on Brennen as well, and he's given them nothing to report. I'm starting to think Rob is indeed in Ferelden."

Aidan sighed and threw up his hands. "And I don't know the new King—Cailan, I think is his name—at all. I'm not sure he would be willing to let us come look for a fugitive. We have no contacts in Ferelden anymore, not since Maric-"

There was a knock at the door, and one of the gentlemen of Aidan's privy chamber peeked in. "Your Highness? There is a Lord Harimann of Kirkwall here to see you."

Aidan and Ryon shared a tense glance. "Is he alone, Matthias?" The young man nodded. "Send him in, then."

Lord Renly Harimann walked through the door, a tall, arrogant, angular man. He strode, cool and confident, over to Aidan's desk. He looked over Captain Ryon and sniffed. "Your Highness," he said crisply.

"Renly. It's been a long time. To what do I owe this visit?" Aidan asked as warmly as he could muster.

"What I have to discuss," Renly started, glaring at Ryon, "is for  _your_  ears only. I would appreciate it if—"

"Captain Ryon is my personal bodyguard and most trusted companion. What is meant for my ears is perfectly acceptable for his. He will stay," Aidan said firmly as he crossed over to the bar. "Would you care for a drink?"

"Please. It's been a long, dusty journey," Harimann grumbled. Aidan poured two glasses of scotch and returned, handing one to Harimann. Renly looked at the amber liquid, gave it a sniff, and scrunched his nose, setting the glass down on Aidan's desk. Aidan furrowed his brows and sat in his chair.

"So, Renly," Aidan said as he took a swig of the amber liquid, "what is this you have to discuss?"

"Well…it seems that a servant under the care of your mother has turned up dead," Harimann started icily. Aidan noticed that his hands—which were at his sides—had started to ball into white-knuckled fists. "This servant was once in the Chantry orphanage, and my aunt Rena had come to care for her very much when your mother swooped in and took her. Naturally, when she heard, she asked if I would come speak to you. It's my understanding—from her, of course—that this matter is yet unresolved."

Aidan leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his broad chest. "But I'm a friend of hers, as well as of the Chantry. Why didn't she come to me directly?"

Renly waved his hands dramatically as he started to pace. "Don't bullshit me, Aidan. Even in Kirkwall we hear of your ruling style. Nobody can talk to you, approach you. My aunt feared for her life if she came to you directly. As I have nothing to fear from you, I told her I would come."

Aidan rose abruptly, knocking his chair onto its back. " _Feared for her LIFE?_ That's a damned pack of lies, Renly, and you know it," the Prince growled viciously, "My door is, and always has been, wide open to everybody. Would I be able to come right in and speak to the Viscount in Kirkwall? In Tantervale?  _Maker_ , no! I'd be forced to wait in line, go through a whole host of formalities, and then be told that I'm to speak with a damned Senschal or other lesser-ranking party instead…and I'm a head of state! So don't tell me that I'm inaccessible, that the people fear me, Harimann, because you know it's just not true. Not when you were allowed to come right in without delay and armed, to boot. Why did you bear a weapon when coming to see me, Renly? It's almost as though you came looking for a fight." The look on Aidan's face was impish, daring Renly Harimann to pull his blade.

Harimann almost fell for it; his hand twitched and started to reach for said sword. Captain Ryon saw the subtle movement and cleared his throat, peaking an eyebrow at Lord Harimann when his smoke-grey eyes shot over towards the direction of the sound. Harimann muttered something under his breath and slowly unsheathed the sword, handing it grip-first to Ryon. Ryon only nodded in thanks as he took the weapon and temporarily placed it on an empty weapon rack, well out of reach.

Renly drew a sharp breath as he turned back towards Aidan. "Well, you may not think the people fear you, but word spreads, Vael.  _Word_.  _Spreads_ ," he grumbled as his already-thin lips formed a blanched white line.

"Likewise," Aidan replied, bemused by Harimann's attempt to intimidate him. "Speaking of how word spreads…why don't you tell me the real reason you're so interested in this girl's death? Because as I've heard, the truth is  _far_  more interesting in that little fib you told me a few moments ago." He righted his chair and settled back into it, taking another sip of his scotch as he watched Renly Harimann start to grow red and tremble with anger.

Harimann's eyes turned black with rage as he settled into his own seat, with Ryon standing watch over him. "Who have you spoken to," he asked with a upward flick of his head.

"Madame Drusilla," Aidan replied simply, taking another sip as he looked at Harimann over the rim of his glass.

Renly's face scrunched in a mix of disgust, frustration, and resignation. " _Fine_. I'll tell you, even though it seems you already know. The lass was my daughter…born of a whore at the brothel here. When the mother died, I told Drusilla that I was taking the lass back to Kirkwall to raise…but I lied. I begged my Aunt Rena to take her in at the Chantry and bring her up to be a Sister. I figured it was the best possible life for her, since I knew Johane wouldn't raise her as one of ours. I just didn't want her brought up in a brothel. Surely you cannot fault me for that. When your mother came in and asked my Aunt to adopt the girl into her household—offering up a big ol' sack of gold in the process—Rena couldn't refuse. The Chantry was in desperate need of repair and the gold was just enough to fix the roof and some of the water damage from the leaking. If  _you'd_  done a better job funding the damned Chantry—"

"Val Royeaux is responsible for the funding of Chantries," Aidan interrupted flatly. "Chantry property is not part of the principality. I have no jurisdiction there."

Renly waved his hand, dismissing what Aidan said. "Whatever. My point is, your mother essentially bought my little girl…but she seemed happy here so I didn't complain. When my Aunt wrote several months ago, telling me of her relationship with your son, I thought for a moment that there might be some glimmer of hope for a better life for her. Then I got another letter from Rena, explaining that my darling daughter had gone missing. A couple of weeks later, I got the letter telling me she was dead. A concerned noble here told me of the possible involvement of Sebastian in her disappearance. I  _must_  speak with him at once."

Aidan let out a huff. "See…that's where I draw a line, Renly. I've let you in—with weapons, even—and I've let you stomp around here and insult  _me_. But where do you get off thinking you can come in here and  _demand_  to interrogate my  _son_ —or anyone else for that matter? You forget your place…you are not of the ruling class in Kirkwall. A request of this nature must go through proper channels, and for you that would be Seneschal Bran," the Prince snarled angrily, quickly forcing himself to calm down. "Be that as it may…Sebastian isn't here. By the way, when was the last time you came to visit your daughter? Sebastian said she didn't know of you at all."

"Where is he? Where is Sebastian?" Harimann demanded, deliberately avoiding the accusation that he had neglected his daughter for so long she didn't even know who he was.  _So she didn't know who I am. That doesn't matter. Her murderer—and all who would protect him—must pay, even if it means killing Aidan himself._

"I do not know. He ran away when he learned of Colleen's death," Aidan fibbed.

"Her name is-was  _Shannon_ ," Renly snarled. "He… _ran away_. And you mean to act like the lad is innocent?  _Right_. Well…where would he go? To your wife's homeland, Ansburg? Are you even looking for him or is he merely stashed away somewhere in this palace, on house arrest until you think the people won't remember what he's done?"

Aidan met Renly's glare with a hard look of his own. "Like I said…I simply do not know. He left no note, nothing. He's not even a suspect, Renly."

Renly's eyes darted from side to side as his frustration grew. His voice dropped low. "Not even a suspect…if my sources are correct, your boy corrupted my sweet, pure little girl, got her pregnant, and now she's dead! Not even a  _suspect_? Fine. I'll play your game, Aidan. Who  _is_  your suspect, then? I'd like to talk to him since you're protecting your boy."

Aidan's brows knotted in concern. "I cannot share that with you, Renly. This is an ongoing investigation, and I'm not going to jeopardize it. I understand the pain you're going through, and I'm sorry—"

The attempt at apology was the last straw for Renly Harimann. He exploded, voice rough with rage. "How can you  _possibly_  think of trying to say you understand? Have you ever lost a child to murder, with no resolution in sight?" The distraught Lord bit his lower lip hard as he sucked in a breath, desperate to calm himself. "I'm going to find your boy, Aidan, since you seem not to care to, and when I do…well…I'll be sure to  _send him home_ ," Harimann said coldly as he turned away from the Prince. He strode over to where his sword had been placed and snatched it up, returning it to the scabbard as he whipped the study door open and flew through.

Reaching the exterior of the palace, Renly Harimann made his way to the residential section of the city-state as the sun started to set. He paused, pulling a note from his belt pouch. Following the instructions, Renly walked until he reached a small bluestone-faced house with white shutters. The gap between it and the whitewashed shed was small, but when he turned sideways he just fit. The open yard behind the shed was dotted with a single barn, again whitewashed to match the shed and house shutters. Renly scanned his surroundings and decided with daylight fading fast, he would just dash across the open expanse. As he reached the side door, he saw a candle take a light from within, barely showing through the window and he knew he was in the right place. Again, he consulted the note and gave the special knock described within.  _Tap…tap-tap tap…tap…_ The door opened slightly and all Renly could see was a dark figure's solitary eye peering through the tiny gap. The figure let out a sigh of relief and opened the door, standing behind the paneled wood to hide until the door could be shut again. Once it was, the four men within settled on hay bales set around a crate with a lone, thin candle in the center.

"Gentlemen," Renly whispered as he scanned the three faces: Baron Brennen MacSwain, Lord Colin Ferguson, and Lord Willem Heatherton. "I've just come from the palace and it is as you say. Aidan Vael  _is_  hiding his son. He speaks of his innocence but refuses to name the true suspect. My poor Aunt…just beside herself in grief over this girl that she raised. The lad must be brought to justice. We must find him." Renly failed to notice MacSwain shift on his bale slightly.

Lord Ferguson leaned in close. "Then you see the tyranny, and why we can no longer have confidence in the Prince? Protecting a cold-blooded killer just because he's kin, while the young ladies of his household run about terrified they'll be next!"  _My poor boy. Taken advantage of by that beast Gavin…and Aidan refused to do anything about it. Boys will be boys, my white arse!_

Renly nodded. "I do. And I'm sorry for it. But you called me here, men…how can I help?"

"We agree with you—we need to bring the Prince's boy to justice. With that murderer out of the way, the people can breathe a bit easier. But we cannot risk hiring an assassin ourselves. The direct correlation would be too great a risk," Lord Heatherton hissed. "We know that you have employed the services of mercenary forces in the past, so we were hoping you have a good line on a competent assassin for this task. I am more than willing to pony up the funds. Surely you could take my coin and do the hiring for us?"

"Gladly. I do not fear Aidan Vael," Renly replied coldly. Lord Heatherton looked to his allies, who nodded their approval, and produced the generously-sized pouch of gold, tossing it on the crate. Harimann snatched it up, deemed its weight to be sufficient for the job, and tucked it in his jerkin. He rose abruptly, crossing over to the door, pausing just long enough to look back over his shoulder. "The  _entire_  Vael family must be deposed, gentlemen. Not just Sebastian. They're rotten through and through. The coin is more than sufficient for the task. Leave everything to me," Renly growled as he exited and shut the door behind him, the draft caused by his swift movement snuffing the lone candle, plunging the three Starkhaven nobles into darkness.

 _What have I done? I've started a damned civil war, that's what,_ MacSwain thought as he sat in the dark. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he could just make out Heatherton and Ferguson's faces in the twilight. Both men were chewing on their lower lips, deep in thought. None of them had expected Renly Harimann to respond the way that he did. All of them knew that in an instant, they had gone way too far to turn back now.

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

**_Val Royeaux, Grand Cathedral:_ **

Sebastian slammed the storeroom door shut behind him, turning around to face his partner-in-crime-for-the-moment, Lily. He approached her, a crooked grin on his face, and took her hands in his, kissing the knuckles lightly. The gesture had its intended effect; Lily blushed and looked away shyly. Sebastian caught her chin with a finger, tilted it up, and kissed her lightly, briefly, breaking away to meet her eyes with his piercing azure stare.

"Knock off that little innocent act, Lily. I'm not buying it, not after what you just whispered in my ear," Sebastian growled as he sucked on her lower lip.

Moments later, they were hotter than the surface of the sun, lust-crazed as they kissed and groped frantically. Sebastian's hand wandered down her stomach to her core and Lily groaned loudly as his fingers grazed her mound through her linen initiate robes.

"Hush, sweetheart. We're right by the women's dormitory. They'll hear you and if they do…we're busted." Sebastian whispered, nibbling her earlobe for effect as he took her hand and guided it to his hard length. "And if we're busted too soon, you can't have this, now can you?"

Lily shook her head as she stifled a whine of need.

"Now, Lily…were the situation different I would bed you properly but…this will have to do," Sebastian said breathlessly as he spun the redhead around, bending her over a crate.

He rucked up her initiate robes and pulled down her smalls roughly. After fiddling with his own robes for a moment, he took himself in hand and teased her, rubbing the head over her aching pearl for a few strokes before slowly guiding himself inside. As he suspected, she was no virgin. If he had to guess, she'd definitely been around the block because the way her hips rocked up to meet his with every delicious thrust was as good as Caterina, his favorite whore back in Starkhaven. She clenched herself around him over and over, her deliberately pulsing muscles threatening to push him over the edge far faster than he wanted. Sebastian decided that if he was going to finish quickly, then she would too as he snaked his hand around her waist and down to her pearl, deftly working his fingers against her. Her breathless gasps only served to make Sebastian hotter and he soon found himself pounding away with reckless abandon, his grunts and the slapping of skin growing in volume and frequency, fueling the fire, stoking his already heated blood.

With little warning, Lily screamed Sebastian's name as her orgasm crashed over her. Sebastian clamped a hand over her mouth, but it was too late. He raced to finish before they were caught, but as luck would have it the sister who lived in the dorm room right next to the storeroom happened to be in her quarters at the time. Just as Sebastian was reaching his own climax, the door whipped open, revealing a very flustered Sister Maureen. He didn't stop at the sudden intrusion, too far gone in ecstacy to even care as he withdrew, spilling his seed all over the back of Lily's robe as he shuddered in climax.

"Sebastian…Lily…what in Andraste's name are you doing?" Sister Maureen took in the sight and everything clicked as Sebastian groaned in his release. "You…You're violating your vows!"

Sebastian, now spent, was leaned over Lily, still holding himself as he panted. "So? The Maker wants us to procreate and be happy. Lily and I were simply trying to please the Maker." He felt the redhead snicker underneath him.

"You would invoke the Maker's name, while doing… _that_  to her?" Sister Maureen spat, disgusted.

Lily shifted awkwardly below Sebastian. He backed away from her and turned to face Sister Maureen as he re-adjusted his clothing, giving her a full view in the process.

Sister Maureen averted her eyes, blushing deeply. "Sebastian. This is hardly appropriate behavior for an initiate such as yourself. And  _you_ ," she gestured towards Lily, "you poor,  _poor_  thing. To be taken advantage of, in the Chantry no less! I will make sure the Revered Mother knows what you've suffered. Come now, darling, let's get you in a nice, hot bath. Vael…get to your quarters.  _NOW_." As the Sister spoke, Lily knelt down, grabbed her smalls and pulled them up. She shifted her hips and the robes fell back into place. As Sister Maureen led her out of the storeroom, Lily cast a glance over her shoulder, licking her lips for Sebastian, who grinned widely as he followed behind, turning right instead of left as he went to his quarters.

About an hour later, there was a knock on Sebastian's door as the Revered Mother entered his quarters, accompanied by Sister Maureen. "You're lucky, Sebastian," the Mother said, shaking her head as she approached Sebastian, who was laying on his bed, reading a book.

"How so," Sebastian muttered, not looking up.

Sister Maureen stiffened. "We have spoken at length with Lily and find that she is unwilling to admit that you took advantage of her."

Sebastian closed his book and looked nonchalantly at the Mother. "That's because I didn't. I would  _never_  do that. What's the fun in an unwilling partner?"

"Well, considering the events which landed you here…surely you can understand why we would be reluctant to believe anything you had to say about the matter?" The Revered Mother now stood right beside him, glaring down with hands on comically wide hips.

Sebastian looked at the Mother, then Sister Maureen, his blue eyes narrowing. "The  _'events which landed me here'_? Oh, you mean that one time where a psychopath murdered my girlfriend and our unborn child and tried to frame me for it?"

Sister Maureen shifted nervously on her feet. "It looked like you were…"

Sebastian was genuinely affronted. "You  _really_  thought I was raping her? You've never seen people having sex, have you?" Sister Maureen shook her head. "That's all that was happening, Sister."

"But she  _screamed_  your name," Sister Maureen protested adamantly as the Revered Mother glared at her. This whole showdown was directly because the young Sister was absolutely positive that Sebastian had forced Lily to do such wickedness against her will, and the more Sebastian spoke, the more the Revered Mother became convinced that he didn't do anything of the sort.

Sebastian crossed his feet as he threaded his fingers behind his head, smirking all the while. "Trust me, Sister…you'd scream too. I  _am_  quite talented, if I do say so myself. I've had plenty of practice. Perhaps if you'd like to… _gain some experience_ , I can-"

" _SEBASTIAN_!" The Revered Mother hissed. "That's quite enough! If it were up to me, you'd be on the first carriage back to Starkhaven. But it's not…and the Divine has spoken. You are to stay here." She threw up her hands in frustration. "Maker only knows why, but you are to stay. You will, however, be confined to quarters for a month. And after that month is up, you will work with the cleaning crew for an additional month."

"A  _MONTH_  of cleaning duty? You've got to be kidding me! I am a Prince of Stark—"

"You are a  _nobody_  within these walls, Sebastian. Titles, trappings of wealth and nobility, they matter not. You are being treated like anyone else that is caught flagrantly breaking the rules in place here. The month of solitude is for reflection on your past deeds.  _ALL_  of them. Please use it wisely." With that, the Revered Mother took Sister Maureen by the arm and led her out. The door latched and Sebastian felt overwhelming loneliness wash over him. He was alone, in isolation much as he had been during his last weeks in Starkhaven, and the vast silence was deafening.


	13. Judgement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An interrogation leads to the downfall of one of Starkhaven's oldest Noble Houses.

**_Starkhaven, three months later:_ **

Captain Ryon entered the dungeon cell and closed it behind him with a heavy metallic clunk. He turned to the figure behind him, bound to the chair, hooded to keep her from knowing where she was. Ryon paced around the heavy wooden chair, plucking the hood from the head of the figure. He leaned over the chair, staring daggers into the eyes of the slight rogue.

"Why don't you start talking, lass," the Captain growled. "I know you are here for Renly Harimann. Tell me  _everything_  you know and I won't leave you down here for the rest of your days. This cell," Ryon said, gesturing to the thick walls around them, "is so isolated from the others that nobody even needs to know you're here if I choose to not tell them. No negotiation…no bargains. Tell me everything, or you rot here forever."

The woman with the cropped raven hair spat at Ryon. He wiped his cheek and laughed heartily. "You think that's going to help you? Go ahead… _scream_. See how fast people come running to help you…because they won't. They won't be able to hear you. You can scream and curse and spit and all that fuss, but  _nobody_. Will  _ever_. Hear you."

The rogue took as deep of a breath as the ropes binding her torso to the chair would allow and let out a bloodcurdling scream. Her face went white as she felt the scream not echo—like most stone walls would—but disappear, swallowed up by the dank, black cell.

Ryon smiled, a wicked thing in the scant torchlight. "You see, lass, you shouldn't doubt me. The walls of this particular cell are made of a special combination of materials. They are thick, strong…and soundproof," Ryon snarled, patting the soft, black-painted facing on the heavy stone walls. "These walls have a facing made of compressed shells. As a result, the interior surface is very soft and very porous. Their favorite thing to soak up? _Screams of desperation_." Ryon paced around to the back of the chair and taking a deep breath of the mercenary's hair, continuing with heated breath in her ear, " _This_  room, my dear, is my  _playroom_. I can do  _anything_  I want in this room and nobody ever need know." Ryon pulled away from the rogue's ear and drew a calloused hand across her cheek, his thumb across her lower lip. She tried to recoil from his touch, but the tight bindings prevented it. The spy was a toy for the Captain and she now knew it. He noticed a tear trickle down her cheek in the dim light.  _Excellent._

The woman sniffled hard, tears having caused her nose to run."Yes… _yes_. Lord Harimann is behind my presence. He hired me…but Lord Heatherton is the money man. Harimann said that Lord Heatherton wanted information on the layout of the palace and its underground tunnels," she whispered, disgusted at herself for being so weak, yet hopeful that she might escape the worst torture that the hulking man could muster.

Ryon stiffened at the revelation. "And what do Heatherton and Harimann plan to do with such information?" He ran his hand through her hair, having honed on her fear—his touch—and using it to his full advantage to get the information he sought.

The spy shuddered with dread and blurted out what little facts she knew, desperate to be released from the cell. "Something about the Vael boy, the youngest one. Sebastian, I believe?"

Behind the bound rogue, Ryon bit his fist to keep from cursing. "That's an awful lot of effort just to question the lad. You mention that you were actually hired by Lord Harimann, but the money was put up by Lord Heatherton…are you certain the orders came from him as well? Are there any other nobles that chipped in to hire you?" He traced a finger down her arm.

The woman shivered, fearing that all of the information she was giving him wouldn't save her from what seemed to be a certain fate. Still, she continued with the last of what she knew, hoping it would keep Ryon from…additional  _touching_. "They don't mean to question the lad. They mean to kill him. And once the blood starts flowing, I don't think they intend to stop until all the Vaels are dead. What I've told you is how the orders came to me. Lord Harimann said that Lord Heatherton was—and I quote— _paying for a map of the underground tunnels and palace_. I'm not sure if any other nobles are involved. I'm not actually  _supposed_  to know any of this, but-"

"You're a spy. It's what you do. I get it. So it sounds like you're not certain that the orders came from Heatherton?" The spy shrugged, and Captain Ryon pressed his lips together grimly. "Thank you for your cooperation," Ryon muttered, walking to the front of the cell. He paused briefly before starting to double back.

"Well…you got what you wanted… _let me go_ ," the woman said firmly. She started to squirm against the restraints as the expression on Ryon's face changed.

"Aye, lass…I know I promised…but you are simply too dangerous to be left alive," Ryon said as he unsheathed his sword, slashing it across her throat in a swift, fluid motion. The rogue's eyes went wide as she choked and gurgled for several moments, finally becoming still as the last of her lifeblood flowed down the front of her leathers. Ryon wiped off his sword and returned it to its scabbard, then used his handkerchief to wipe off the sprayed blood that mottled his cheek and sword hand. He tossed the bloodied cloth onto the now-dead spy and exited the cell, gesturing for Wallace to dispose of the body inside.

Ryon hustled through the snarling corridors of the Keep until he reached his office, anxiety twisting tighter and tighter in his belly with every step.  _Harimann is more clever than we give him credit for…he's being very careful to make sure everything he says is just ambiguous enough to not directly implicate him. But in my gut I know he's behind it…and that there are more nobles involved. There has to be. Surely something as sinister as regicide cannot be the brainchild of just one or two men. Aidan is going to lose his shit when I tell him._

He finally reached his office, ducked behind the privy screen, and dumped water from pitcher to basin carelessly, spilling most along the top of his washing stand. Plunging his rough hands into the water, Ryon splashed his face over and over, even after he was clean. He finally stopped, gripped the sides of his wash stand and looked into the mirror, his visage still dripping with water.  _Maker, what is happening here…Willem? Really? And what if Harimann just keeps coming…do we kill every single noble that consorts with that bastard?_ Ryon took a deep breath, letting it out quickly, and grabbed a threadbare towel to dry off. He returned to his desk and opened a drawer, grabbing his leather-covered flask and taking a long pull from it. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he breathed in slowly, savoring the heat the corn whisky created as the air moved across his tongue. He put the flask back in its place and left, off to give his Prince one of the most difficult debriefings of his long career.  _Lord Heatherton will die tonight…but I hope he can at least give us more names first._

After many minutes of walking from Keep through underground and into Palace, Ryon finally reached the door of his Prince. He knocked on the door and heard the muffled voice of Aidan Vael inside allow him entry. Striding through the doorway, Ryon closed the door behind him.

"Your Highness," Ryon said stiffly, noticing Gavin sitting where he normally would. "I have some…unfortunate news. I'm not sure—"

"Gavin, would you excuse us, please?" Aidan asked quietly. "We can discuss the matter of your betrothal to the Cumberland lass over supper. I'm glad you've finally come around to the idea of marriage." Gavin blanched slightly as he gave his father a thin smile and exited.

Once the door clicked home again, Ryon took the chair that Gavin had just occupied. "Sire, you may want to get yourself a drink. I'll take one too, if you don't mind."

Aidan peaked an eyebrow at his Captain.  _This must be bad if he's actually asking for a drink. He usually doesn't drink unless I offer. _He rose, poured drinks, and returned with two glasses, handing one to Ryon, who drained it in a single gulp. Aidan fell into his chair, stunned at what he just watched his normally very controlled friend do. "Out with it, Ryon," he groaned.

Ryon took a deep breath. "Sire, we intercepted a spy in the wee hours of the morning. Through careful interrogation, I have…uncovered a plot."

Aidan cringed at the words. "What is it…who's behind it?"

"The spy was hired to map the underground corridors and the palace. The goal was to take Sebastian and kill him," Ryon started.

"Harimann," Aidan growled.

"Actually, according to the spy…it was Lord Heatherton," Ryon mumbled softly. "I'm sorry, Your Highness. I know he's been a strong ally to the Crown, and a longtime friend to you personally…but he  _was_  the money man, according to the spy. She also said that Harimann hired her, but he said—again, according to her—that Willem paid to have maps of the tunnels and palace. Can you  _believe_  that? We've obviously underestimated the depths of Harimann's depravity if he is so willing to throw all of his allies here to the wolves to save his own hide."

Aidan cast his eyes sadly into his glass.  _Of course, my friend would be involved in the plot. The royal life certainly is a lonely one at times._ "Aye. It's proving to be far more difficult to pin any of this directly on Renly than we previously thought. Kinda makes you wonder how long he's had this idea in the works, doesn't it? Anyone else involved? MacSwain, perhaps?"  _Please, Maker?_

Ryon scowled. "The spy was unsure. She said she wasn't supposed to know what she  _did_  tell me."

"She's a spy. Of course she would snoop around for more information. She's been… _taken care of_?" Aidan peaked an eyebrow over the rim of his glass as he took a sip.

"Of course," Ryon said breathlessly. "But there's something else she mentioned…she said that she didn't think that they meant to stop at just Sebastian. She said that once the blood started to flow, they wouldn't stop…" he trailed off, choking on his words, "they wouldn't stop until  _all_  the Vaels were dead."

Aidan pressed his lips together tightly, blanching them as he held his scotch glass with a white-knuckled grip. After several long, tense moments of silence, he finally cleared his throat. "Well, that is—I mean, I knew Harimann would come after us, but getting Heatherton to pay for the mercenary? And they mean… _blasted_   _damnation_!" He got up from his chair, crossing over to his armor and weapons stands, pulling his great-grandfather's greatsword from its place on top. Aidan passed the sword from hand-to-hand, marvelling at its perfect balance despite its length and weight. He took a couple of test swings at his armor stand and rested the point of the blade on the rug under his feet, wrapping his hands around the grip and resting his chin on the pommel.

"It kills me to say this, but you know what must be done. Bring them  _all_  to the Keep, Ryon," Aidan blurted as though the conviction to order this deed would leave him if he didn't say it quickly enough.

Ryon's face went white.  _Even the children?_ " _All_  of them, Sire? What about Harimann?"

Aidan stared at the rug underfoot, a faraway look on his face. "We cannot strike against Harimann. Not  _yet_. We lack the evidence, and if I'm going to bring him down without making him a damned hero both here and abroad, then I have to do so properly. We will execute Lord Heatherton tonight; we have direct proof of his treasonous ways. The rest of his family will be imprisoned in the Keep's tower until someone from Lady Rachael's family can receive her in Ansburg."

Aidan straightened up, speaking more sternly now. "We must act prudently and firmly against Heatherton, Ryon. His execution should demonstrate to the nobility the penalty of treason, and hopefully those others that are involved will think twice before continuing to collude with Harimann. Harimann  _must_  understand that there are consequences for meddling in the affairs of another principality, though I don't think he gives a fig whether Willem lives or dies." Aidan bit his fist as he spoke of the imminent death of his friend. "As frustrating as it is to admit, Renly's involvement at this time is only  _implied_. Renly's painted himself as a damned middleman, when we know he's the true source of the threat! I cannot risk angering Viscount Dumar by going after one of his nobles without very clear evidence of direct involvement. Kirkwall is our strongest trade ally…our economy would founder without those deals."

Ryon muttered to the glass in his hand. "You're asking me to round up women…and children…Maker preserve us…"

Aidan approached him quickly, rage flaring in his blue eyes. "They would have done  _no_  less to us, Ryon. Do not forget that. They'd have murdered even little Colum. Willem will find himself thanking the Maker that I intend to merely detain Lady Rachael and the children, and not slaughter them for his crime."  _Like my father did when I was Sebastian's age…_

Ryon nodded.  _Aye, he's right._ "I'll have them here by nightfall. Do you wish to be present for the interrogation and—"

"Yes. The crime is against me and my family directly… _treason_. A death sentence for treason must  _always_  be carried out by the Prince directly," Aidan muttered as he started to return the greatsword to its place atop the weapons rack before realizing that he needed to sharpen it for the execution. "I'll question the children and Lady Rachael in the tower first, then Willem."

"Aye, Sire. I will alert you when we have the Heathertons," Ryon said softly as he spun around and stalked out of the study.

Two hours later, Ryon arrived at the Heatherton estate with a compliment of six of his finest soldiers. All wore the insignia of Starkhaven's Crown; a golden  _lion rampant_ against a dark blue background. Ryon rapped on the door sharply, and a servant answered.

Ryon smiled warmly at the girl. "Lass, is your Lord home?"

"Aye, messere. Let me fetch him." As soon as she turned around, Ryon turned and nodded to his men. They stormed inside the manor, shoving the servant girl to the side as they spread quickly through the house, snatching up Lady Rachael, sons Bryce and Donald, daughter Reina, and finally, Lord Willem Heatherton himself. Ryon took hold of Lord Heatherton's wrists, wrapping them behind his back, around a support column to hold him while he looked around. He ordered the other five to take Lady Rachael and the children to the Keep's tower.

Ryon made a final sweep of the house as Lord Heatherton looked on, strangely quiet. Ryon entered Heatherton's study, rifling through drawers and bookshelves, looking for any hard evidence to link Lord Heatherton to Harimann. Disgruntled at finding nothing, Ryon stalked past the fireplace to leave and accidentally kicked over the ash bucket. In the ashes, Ryon saw scraps of unburned paper.  _Hmm. Can't hurt to look, right?_ Ryon plucked all of the unburned scraps from the dark, powdery ash and returned to Heatherton's desk. He inspected the dozen pieces; most were blank. Two pieces had writing on them but were damaged. Ryon removed his gloves and gently brushed off the ash, hoping to make the writing more clear. He didn't uncover much, but what he did uncover made him shake his head: 'Vael', 'mercen', 'map'.  _Oh, Willem…what would drive you to such?_  He tucked the scraps into his belt pouch and exited the study. Freeing Willem from the column, Ryon fixed his wrists in shackles and led him out of the posh estate by the arm.

"I found some unburned scraps of paper, Willem. You really should make sure your letters burn completely," Ryon said quietly in Lord Heatherton's ear as he led him through the streets of Starkhaven, parading him in front of the growing numbers that had come out of their homes to watch one of the highest nobles in the principality be led around like a common thief. "We'll have a little chat, then the Prince will join us. You should start thanking the Maker that His Highness has decided to spare your lovely wife and children." Lord Heatherton hung his head at the news, whispering a barely audible  _Yes…thank the Maker for that._

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

In the Keep's tower, Lady Rachael Heatherton and her three children sat, awaiting the arrival of the Prince. As if on cue, Aidan walked into the fortified apartment, mumbling a stiff greeting as he strode in. His anxiousness was barely masked by his falsely-confident steps.

"Lady Rachael, my apologies for having to meet like this," Aidan said quietly. "Do you know why you're here?"

"I know," Bryce Heatherton piped up. "It's because my father has more balls than you'll ever have."

Aidan's face grew pale. "Bryce, my boy…you are… _aware_  of what your father is up to?"

Bryce folded his arms across his chest. "Aware of? More like  _openly encouraged_ ," the seventeen-year-old said defiantly.

"I truly wish you hadn't said that," Aidan murmured as he gestured for Wallace to seize the boy. "Take him to his father, Wallace." The loyal guard left the apartment with the madly-grinning youth in tow.

Aidan turned back to Lady Rachael, who was shaking her head softly as tears ran down her cheeks. "I know why I'm here, Aidan…and I'm so,  _so_  sorry. I tried to tell Willem not to get involved with this wickedness, but when Bryce started to egg him on…I had no idea what they were really getting up to until last night," the brunette with soft grey-green eyes whispered as her eleven-year-old twins looked on in horror.

Aidan sat beside his friend, taking her hands gently in his. "Who is this ' _they'_ , Rachael? Who is Willem involved with? What are they up to?"

"I only know—with any certainty, mind you—what Bryce and Willem were up to, I'm sorry to say. But what they spoke of—I dare not repeat it. Vile, villainous words, Aidan."

"I cannot lie to you, Lady Rachael," Aidan whispered. "Willem is going to be executed for treason. But you, Donald, and Reina…you are safe here, so  _please_ …tell me what you know. I swear nothing will come to you for it."

Rachael buried her face in her hands as giant sobs wracked her tiny body. Aidan wrapped an arm loosely around his wife's cousin in a weak attempt to comfort her. "I knew it— _knew_  it! I  _told_  him he would hang for this," she choked, composing herself enough to continue, "He got a letter, claiming that you were doing a poor job as Prince. It said your boy Sebastian is a murderer and that you are more concerned with keeping him free than you are with the welfare and happiness of your people. I don't believe that one bit…but Bryce saw the letter and got all hopped up about it—you know how cross he was after he and Sebastian fought over a girl a few years ago—and Willem got caught up in the boy's infectious energy. Before I knew it, he was sneaking around to secret meetings…and several bags of gold disappeared from our vault…I think he was financing some sort of plot against you, Aidan."

Aidan gripped Rachael's hands again, tighter now, as he stared hard into her eyes. "Who wrote the letter, my Lady?  _Please_ …I must know," he pleaded hoarsely.

"I wish I knew," Rachael said, returning Aidan's gaze earnestly. "Willem had torn the bottom from the letter—"

"Very clever," Aidan growled, interrupting the woman. " _Very_  clever indeed. Thank you very much, Lady Rachael. I'll see to it that you are comfortable here during your stay." He rose abruptly, crossing the room.

"Aidan," Lady Rachael blurted, forgetting her place briefly. "I mean…Your Highness. How long will we be staying here?"

Aidan sighed, hand on the doorknob. "As I'm sure you know, Willem will have his titles and lands stripped for his crimes. After tonight, you will no longer be nobility in Starkhaven. But that doesn't mean I don't have a heart, Rachael. We have many years of history together, and Andra would have my balls if I let anything happen to you. I would like you to go back to Ansburg, to your family. You may stay here as long as it takes to arrange that, but you and the children are not to leave this apartment."

"And what of Bryce?" Rachael asked, voice shaking. She already knew the answer.

"He will be interrogated alongside your husband. I am sad to say, however, that as of now it appears he is fully complicit in your husband's crime. He will suffer the same punishment," Aidan muttered as he swiftly exited the tower apartment, leaving Rachael Heatherton to gasp and faint in the room behind him.

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

Aidan entered the large holding cell in the Keep—Captain Ryon's special  _playroom_ , as he called it—grimacing as he looked at his friend, Lord Heatherton, bound fast to a large wooden chair, with his oldest son, Bryce, sitting right beside him. He looked at Ryon. "Has he said anything—did you by chance find anything in the raid?"

"Just a few scraps of partially burned paper, Sire. They appear to implicate Heatherton in the plot to gain the maps, but nothing more. Nothing of Harimann. Willem hasn't said a word either," Ryon muttered as he produced the scraps from his pouch. "Bryce, on the other hand, won't shut his  _fucking_   _yap_. How a boy can talk so much and say so little at the same time is beyond me."

"Lady Rachael didn't know anything about Harimann's possible involvement either," Aidan grumbled to his Captain. He turned the burned scraps over in his hand as he approached Lord Heatherton's chair. "Willem," Aidan started quietly as he looked at the burned paper, "we intercepted the spy. We know Harimann did the hiring, but you provided the money and the orders. Why? We've been friends since we were boys!"

Willem Heatherton couldn't force himself to meet Aidan's pleading blue eyes.  _Wait…I didn't give the orders to get the maps…the spy must simply have been mistaken._

"Because it's time for a change," Bryce Heatherton spat. "You Vaels have had the Crown for six generations. It's time for new blood."

"Hush, Bryce," Willem hissed.

"And I suppose that'd be  _you_ , Willem?" Aidan asked, wounded, and Willem Heatherton hung his head in shame. "Bryce, my boy…have I done anything to wrong you? To wrong Starkhaven?"

The eldest son of Willem Heatherton said nothing, scowling as he looked at his father.

Willem cleared his throat. "You've let a killer run free for months, Vael—your own son. You don't think that protecting your boy over the citizens of Starkhaven constitutes a flagrant disregard for the safety of the population?"

"Sebastian is  _innocent_!" Aidan snapped. "You  _know_  this, Willem, you were one of the first I told!"

Lord Heatherton's eyes blazed furiously. "Then why did he run? And I'm sure you're going to tell me that the 'real killer' is nowhere to be found? Come now, Aidan. You and I both know that Sebastian has been a problem child since the Maker-damned day he was born! But you…and your late father— _Maker rest his soul_ —protected that worthless piece of shit above all else! You let him whore all over Starkhaven at what…thirteen? Fourteen? Way too young, at any rate. You didn't parent the boy at all, Aidan—"

Bryce interrupted his father. "There's talk you haven't kept up the trade deals with Tantervale or Kirkwall in your obsession over keeping Sebastian out of trouble…our economy could very well collapse and you wouldn't give two shits as long as your precious boy was safe and sound. I'll be damned if I'm going to let you drag down Starkhaven like your boy has dragged down the Vael name."

Aidan could only glare at the man he once called  _friend_  while his lad railed against Sebastian. Ryon stepped up, slapping the insolent youth. "That's enough out of you, Bryce," he growled, turning toward the shamed Lord. "Tell us who else is involved, Willem, or you watch your boy die."

Willem glanced over at Bryce and knotted his brows in sorrow.  _I'm sorry,_ he mouthed before turning to face Ryon. "I'm not at liberty to say," he said coldly, his voice wavering as he knew he just sacrificed his son to protect the plot.  _We talked about this. Bryce is willing to die for this…for Starkhaven._

Aidan sighed as he gestured for Ryon to unbind Bryce from his chair. The Captain did so and yanked the seventeen-year-old out of the chair by the back of his jerkin, forcing him to stand. Ryon led Bryce several paces forward, turning him to face his father and shoving him down into a kneeling position. Wallace brought over the executioner's block and Bryce Heatherton willingly placed his head on it, holding his arms out to the side in defiance. Aidan bit his lower lip and looked at Lord Heatherton, who still sat there, stone-faced, as his eldest boy pressed a cheek to the bloodstained chunk of wood. Aidan drew in a sharp breath as he raised his greatsword, bringing it down in a quick, decisive stroke that lopped off Bryce's head cleanly. The bloodspray just barely hit Lord Heatherton and he shuddered, vision wavering on going black, as he realized the warmth that struck his skin was coming from the lifeless torso of his  _own son_.

Lord Heatherton squirmed in his chair as he watched his son's leg still twitch randomly, clearly upset by his realization that Aidan really was carrying out the executions.  _Sweet Andraste, this is really happening! I would not have thought he'd actually do this. Harimann has vastly underestimated Aidan…as have I. Maker preserve us all._  He thought back, briefly, to a private conversation that he had with Renly Harimann about a month prior.

" _Trust me, Willem, Vael doesn't have the balls to do anything about this. Even if he finds out about our plans, all he'll do is ask a few questions and let us go."_

" _Plans? As in multiple? I thought we had agreed to just get our hands on Sebastian…to leave Aidan alone."_

" _Willem, I made it perfectly clear at our very first meeting—the one with MacSwain and Ferguson—that the entire family must be deposed. I intend to follow through with that plan even if you back out."_

" _You—You do intend to kill more than just Sebastian and Aidan, then? Maker preserve us…who will be ruler when the Vaels fall? Surely not you? You're not even from Starkhaven!"_

" _His brother, Alec, has a boy who is quite…malleable. His name is Goran. As a Vael, he is the key to preventing civil war. But with that idiot on the throne—married to a lass of our choosing—Starkhaven will be free to make new trade deals that will allow this beautiful land of yours to prosper as it never has before. When your pockets overflow with gold, Willem, you will thank me."_

" _I…I don't know if I can go along with this, Renly. Aidan is a good friend of mine. I get that we must bring Sebastian to justice…but taking down the entire family seems a bit extreme."_

" _If it were your daughter buried in the cold, hard ground, would YOU sit idly by as the murderer was protected from the justice he so desperately deserves? How can you be ruled by a man who so openly allows his boy to skirt his fate? Clearly his judgement is unsound! Will you stand by as he drags down Starkhaven with him, Willem? Now…listen very carefully. If you are interrogated, Willem, you must not mention anyone else's involvement. Don't even admit to your own if you can get away with it. We must protect the plot at all costs, even if it costs us our lives. Please, Willem. In the name of justice. For the good of Starkhaven."_

 _For Starkhaven._ Defeated, Willem Heatherton began to tremble as a lone tear streaked his dirty cheek. "I—I'll tell you all you want to know. All that I  _do_  know. Just…let Rachael and the other children  _go_ ," he begged.

Aidan stopped in his tracks, putting down his sword and doubling back to crouch down beside Lord Heatherton's chair. "Excellent, Willem. So…tell me…are there any other nobles that would rise against us? How many ears does Harimann have amongst the nobility here, anyway? Has he even told you  _why_  he's involved himself in our affairs?" The Prince asked crisply.

Heatherton drew a sharp breath.  _Use your best bluff face, Willem._ "There might be others, I'm not sure. As far as Harimann is concerned…all I know is that the girl that died was an orphan his aunt cared for deeply. She asked him to look into this and he complied. Just came here, asking some questions, and he agreed to hire some mercenaries to investigate further. That's  _all_. The plot itself began and ended with my boy Bryce and me, as far as I know.  _I_ certainly haven't involved any others," Willem fibbed.

"Who was the letter that Rachael saw from? She said you had torn off the name," Aidan demanded.

"I have no idea what you're talking about. I do not involve Rachael in my business affairs. I have no idea how she would even know of any letters I receive, let alone any that had been damaged."

"Well…who was  _this_  letter from, then?" Captain Ryon demanded, pointing at the partially-burned scraps on the table along the wall.

"It was a draft of the letter I sent with my coin to Lord Harimann for hiring the mercenary. It contained my orders," Willem responded coolly.  _I'm going to die anyway, so I might as well take all the heat. For Starkhaven…all for Starkhaven._

"You honestly think I'm going to believe this steaming pile of horseshit?" Aidan yelled, and Willem noticed that the sound was simply absorbed by the cell. "Come on, Willem…perhaps you will be more forthcoming if you know what I know." The Prince started to pace around Lord Heatherton's chair. "The lass—this… _orphan_ —was no ordinary lass. She was Renly's illegitimate daughter. Remember how he used to come here every month, like clockwork?" Willem thought for a moment and nodded. "He was here visiting his daughter. When the mother died, the girl was still in the crib. Renly told the Madam he was going to take the girl back to Kirkwall, to raise her himself. Only he lied. Dumped the child off at the Chantry. And eventually, my mother saw her and adopted her to be part of the serving staff."

Willem looked like someone had punched him square in the gut.  _Holy Maker…_ "H-H-How did Sebastian…get involved?"

Aidan crouched down beside Heatherton's chair. "Colleen and Sebastian were in contact, as royals are with servants, and at some point the kids fell for each other. But I couldn't let him marry her, because I needed him betrothed to a more suitable lass. Brennen MacSwain's oldest boy had asked me for her hand some time before I found out that Sebastian was seeing her, so I approached him and told him to propose to her, to get the lass out of my boy's life. From there, all I know is from what Sebastian told us. He found out of the girl's betrothal and got her to agree to run away with  _him_  instead. The lass was strangled and dumped in the river on the night she and Sebastian were planning to leave. She left him standing on the banks of the Minanter, waiting for her…but she never came. A boy came by with a note, stating she had changed her mind again. A second note in the same writing was left for Robbie MacSwain telling him she was breaking it off with him for Sebastian. But neither note was written by her hand, because we found a third that was confirmed to be from her."

"Sweet Andraste…he  _is_  innocent, isn't he…" The weight of the situation started to press hard on Lord Heatherton's chest as he noted it was MacSwain that suggested they get Renly Harimann involved due to his connections with the Flint Company Mercenaries.  _And he looked awfully nervous during that first meeting with Renly. Holy shit…did MacSwain know the lass was Renly's?_

Aidan stood again, taking a few strides away to get a drink. "Yes, Willem, he  _is_  innocent. Sebastian didn't run away. I  _sent_  him away to protect him from plots like this because I knew the circumstantial evidence was too strong for most to ignore. However…he couldn't have done it. The handprints on the girl's neck were too big for him to have made, and Rob MacSwain is nowhere to be found. We suspect that Robbie likely killed Colleen in a fit of jealousy when she dumped him and Brennen is hiding him somewhere. The reason we appear to not have done anything, Willem, is that we cannot find the boy to question him, and at present we lack the evidence that ties Brennen to this deed. But…with your admission…I could be  _that much_  closer to resolving this. All you have to do is tell me  _everything_ , Willem," he said calmly as he brought a glass of scotch over to Lord Heatherton, putting it to his friend's lips. Willem took the drink greedily, eager to steel himself for what he knew was now inevitable.

Willem slumped in his chair, the warmth of the liquor washing over him as he mulled over what Aidan has just told him. He couldn't believe he had been duped into what would have basically been the slaughter of an innocent boy and his family—all under the pretense that Aidan was a poor Prince when in reality, Renly Harimann wanted retribution for his secret child's death, and Brennen MacSwain was trying to cover up his son's crime. As though he were possessed somehow, Willem Heatherton only shook his head steadfastly as Aidan spoke, seemingly unable—or unwilling—to speak up.

"He used you, Willem. Renly used you, and I suspect Brennen MacSwain has used you as well. But since you won't speak," Aidan said stiffly as he realized that his friend would not be confessing, choking out the next words as crisply as possible, "…as I'm sure you're well aware…what you're involved in is  _treason_. And so…Willem Heatherton, I hereby strip you of your titles and lands, and sentence you to death for high crimes against the Crown of Starkhaven."

Lord Willem Heatherton mouth was agape in shocked disbelief, as Captain Ryon unbound and led him over to the executioner's block, which was still wet with Bryce's blood.

"Rest assured, Willem…Rachael and the twins will have safe passage back to Ansburg, to her family. I promise you that," he murmured as he crossed the cell to where Willem was bent over the block, resisting Ryon's attempts to shove him the rest of the way down to the wood.

"Please…Aidan…the wood…it's still wet with my boy's blood," Willem said in horror. "Please don't make me…"

Aidan gestured for Ryon to pull Willem up to a vertical position, still on his knees. He could do this  _without_  a block, after all. He drew a slow breath and lined up his stroke, resting the edge of the blade lightly on the back of Heatherton's neck. At the feel of the cold metal, the disgraced Lord started to weep miserably, gritting his teeth for what would come.

"Willem…I know you're protecting Renly Harimann, if not others like Brennen MacSwain. I tried to make you see what he's pulled you into, but for whatever reason you protect him still. I  _will_  catch him, Willem. He will slip up and when he does, I will be on him like a fly on horse shit. And don't you think for a  _second_  that he won't sell you down the river at the first opportunity when he's sitting in that chair. May the Maker have mercy on your soul, because I certainly cannot," Aidan growled, his voice unnaturally low.

Willem felt the loss of that cold edge as Aidan spoke and knew that only the Black Void would receive him for what he'd done to his friend. He didn't even get a chance to choke out a final apology before the greatsword sliced cleanly through his neck, through bone and tendons and muscles, the words barely formed on his disembodied lips as his torso collapsed to the stone floor.

Aidan's head spun as he stood there, still holding his sword in the followthrough, watching blood drip from the point.  _I just killed my friend and his boy. What is happening here? How is Renly Harimann getting to these men to die for his cause so easily?_  He roughly wiped the blood from his sword and slung it over his back as he stalked out of the cell, back to the Palace.  _I must tell the Divine to assign Sebastian to a Chantry far away from here, until the danger has passed._

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

Andra Vael straddled Aidan's near-nude body as they lay on their marital bed, having ordered him to lay on his stomach so she could tend to his sore back. She rubbed her hands across her husband's shoulders lazily, working her slender fingers against the tense knots of muscle there. He groaned in relief as she loosened a particularly stiff knot and placed a gentle kiss in its place.

"You did what you had to," she murmured as her hands worked down to his lower back, splaying across the tops of his hips just at the waistband of his smalls, thumbs working from the small dimples there outward to his sides. "For us. For  _Starkhaven_. There's no dishonor in that. Willem sealed his own fate."

"I know, love…but Rachael's your cousin…and Willem's death brought me no closer to resolving the threat against Sebastian," Aidan muttered into his pillow, moaning loudly as Andra's fingers loosened another tight spot. "I wanted our boy to come back after his initiate year, to serve in our Chantry so we could have him close. Ohh— _right there_ , love, yes…I wanted him to lead the Royal Archers; he's the only Vael with any bow skills at all. But as long as there is still a threat…I simply cannot do any of that. I'm sorry, Andra. I know I promised you that I would bring him home, but it looks like it will be quite some time before I can."

"Oh…I see…" she replied softly, trailing off as she stopped rubbing her husband's back. Andra missed her youngest son terribly. "Where do you mean to have him sent after his investiture, then?"

"I sent a letter to the Divine requesting he be sent out of the Free Marches, to Ferelden," Aidan whispered. "Thank the Maker that whoever is behind all of this hasn't found him in Val Royeaux yet…but I fear that they very well may." He didn't dare concern her with the bigger, more grave threat against the entire Vael family.  _Knowing Sebastian is still in danger is stressful enough for her. My sweet Andra has always doted on the lad…I know this has to be killing her inside._

Aidan felt his wife lean down, her soft lips barely brushing the shell of his ear as she spoke and he shivered at the delicacy of it. "Ferelden…maybe he could serve with the Templars in Denerim…so his skills don't languish?" She asked sweetly.  _At least give him that much, Aidan. I know my boy. He is going absolutely crazy there with nothing to do, I'm sure of it._

The warmth of his wife's body pressing so lightly against his back—even though she wore a silk nightgown—was rather stimulating.  _But now is not the time to get all hot-blooded. Too distracting._ "I'll… _think_  about it, Andra. I'm not sure I'm crazy about him having to be away from the Chantry as the Templars so often do. It would potentially expose him to much more risk. Plus the Templar vows would have him bound even tighter than those of Brotherhood. But the boy does need something to do there…I cannot ignore that."

Andra sat back up, resuming her backrub at a lazy, delicate pace. "Aidan, I am eternally grateful to the Maker for making me your wife. You make such hard decisions, every single day, and I love that you are so decisive and strong. I know you will bring our boy home someday, and so I will simply wait patiently until that blessed day arrives."

Aidan Vael used his strength to turn over despite the weight of his wife straddling him. He grabbed her hips, and Andra leaned down to kiss him. As she did, Aidan wrapped her in his arms, pressing her to his chest as they kissed. "Thank you, sweetheart," he whispered roughly in her ear. "I'm glad that  _someone_  appreciates me, at least. What would I do without you…"

"Well, for one thing," Andra teased, grinding herself against him as her hands wandered ever-lower, "You would go unsatisfied, and we can't have a grumpy Prince, can we?"

Aidan slipped his hands down to her hips again, stopping her. "Not tonight, love, I'm sorry. I've just had so much happen today…I just want this day to end. I'll make it up to you, I swear it," he growled, kissing the side of her neck lightly.

"You'd better, Your Highness. Because the only thing worse than a grumpy, unsatisfied Prince is a grumpy, unsatisfied  _Princess_ ," she chided as she rolled off of Aidan, settling into the bed beside him, stretching one arm lazily across his broad chest as she nuzzled into his shoulder. Aidan rolled his head to the side and kissed the top of her dark brown-black hair, stroking it with his palm as she drifted off to sleep. He laid there for most of the night, just watching his wife, knowing that what he had done today ensured that she could sleep so sweetly. It did nothing to calm the storm swirling in his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wall covering made of compressed shells is inspired by various coastal military forts in the U.S. that are comprised partially (or entirely) of a building material called coquina. (Fort Matanzas in St. Augustine, FL is one such fort) These bricks, made of tiny compressed shells, are very soft and very rough. As a result, they not only absorb cannon shot without cracking but also many sounds that would echo in a similar structure made of masonry or concrete. Here, Captain Ryon has gone the extra step of coating his coquina facing in pine tar pitch, making the room a dense black hell—kind of like the Black Void itself.


	14. The Seeker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian tries to run away but is thwarted by his bodyguard. Sons betray the order of their father.

**_Val Royeaux, Grand Cathedral, two months later:_ **

_Twang—hissssssss—thunk!_

_Twang—hissssssss—thunk!_

_Twang—hissssssss—thunk!_

Sebastian fired the last of his arrows, which hit the center of the target and formed a tight formation of shots with the rest of the missles he had loosed. He reached over his shoulder to grab another from his quiver and got only air.  _I need to keep better track of how many arrows I have, so I don't get caught mid-battle without any due to my oversight._ Muttering to himself, Sebastian started the long walk to the target, picking up one errant arrow along the way, grimacing as he noted that the shaft had cracked a bit.  _I'll have to find some wood for new shafts soon. These are getting a bit too worn now._ He reached the round multi-colored bullseye and started pulling his shafts from it, taking care to not wiggle them too much lest he loosen the sinew holding the arrowheads in place or—worse yet—cracking another shaft. The final arrow came free, minus its arrowhead, and he groaned.  _Where am I going to find flint…here?_

"The Templar's Keep has plenty of fletching materials," a strange voice, thick with Orlesian accent, boomed behind him. Sebastian spun around, coming face-to-face with one of the Templars, his distinctive armor unmistakeable. "Pardon me, where are my manners? I am Knight-Captain Savarin. You are…a  _fantastic_  archer—"

"How long have you been watching me, Ser Savarin?"

"Long enough… _often_  enough to know that I would very much like you to join the Order," the man replied. Sebastian had to listen to every word very carefully, his accent was so thick and distracting.  _I wonder how a man with nearly black hair comes to have a white streak running through it like that?_

"I-I just got here," Sebastian stammered, floored at the invitation. "I'm not even halfway through my initiate year."

"You'd finish the year, of course, and then be released to us before you take your Brotherhood vows. I know much about you, Sebastian," Savarin oozed, his accent making Sebastian's name sound so unfamiliar to him, "I know about your…past. I am offering you a chance to live in service to the Maker but without the harsh  _restrictions_  that investiture requires. I open my archery range, fletching materials, and armory to you. Come, see what we do, talk with my archers. Then, take some time and think about my offer. I won't pressure you to decide right here, right now. You've got several months until your year is up. You can wait until then, if you wish…but once you take your vows of Brotherhood, I will not be able to take you, sadly."

Sebastian nodded numbly as he processed Savarin's words.  _Me? A Templar? A chance to live outside the Chantry? A tempting offer._ "Well, how can I say no to fletching materials, at least? As you no doubt saw, I am running out of serviceable arrows."

"My thoughts precisely. Come then, Sebastian, we will give you materials enough to fletch a hundred arrows if you wish. What else do you have to do, being confined to quarters again as you are?"

Sebastian cringed.  _Knows that too, does he?_ He had scarcely been released from quarters from his tryst with Lily when he was caught sneaking around with a bottle of sacramental wine hidden in his robes. That landed him in quarters for another week, and tacked on two more weeks of cleaning crew duties.  _At this rate, I'll still be confined to quarters when I take my vows!_

"Speaking of that," Sebastian started nervously, "I hate to rush off, but my exercise hour is nearly up. If I don't get back to quarters, I'll be in even more trouble."

"Not if I talk to the Revered Mother on your behalf." Savarin grinned at the seventeen-year-old and gestured for him to walk by his side as they returned to the Templar Keep. Savarin guided them through the stone halls to a small storeroom. Savarin opened the door, revealing a pair of workbenches and shelves lined with feathers in every length and shape imagineable. Some were already trimmed, some dyed, some natural. All were of the highest quality—none were ragged or misshapen. Sebastian stumbled slowly into the room and turned around. A rack of quivers were set up much like a wine rack, each quiver holding several unfletched shafts, sorted by length, diameter, and wood type. He saw a drawer, like he had seen in the Court Physician's office once, and pulled open one of the dozens of small square drawers. It held a handful of narrow flint heads. Sebastian shoved that drawer shut, yanking another open. It held steel heads.  _Steel heads!_ A third drawer contained dry strips of sinew. An array of carving knives was displayed on one workbench. Sebastian couldn't believe it; he turned around and grinned at Savarin, who returned the smile easily as he saw the fire in the boy's eyes.

"You could work here, if you weren't on restrictions. Take what you wish. If—when you are free to do so—you wish to come here and do your fletching, simply let me know so I can apprise my lead archer. Otherwise, he's liable to panic a bit if he sees a non-Templar rifling through his supplies."

"Of course. Thank you, Ser Savarin," Sebastian mumbled. He found the shaft bin labeled "26 – 3/8 – Ash" and pulled four pieces. He turned to the bank of drawers containing the arrowheads and sinew and quickly selected four amber-colored narrow heads and enough material to bind everything properly. A jar of speckled hawk feathers and a small bottle of glue to hold it all together fulfilled his needs.

"Ready? I'll accompany you back to quarters," Savarin chuckled. Sebastian successfully fought the urge to scowl at his new friend. They walked, side-by-side, back the dormitories. He thanked Knight-Captain Savarin once they were back at his quarters, and as soon as Savarin shut the door behind him, Sebastian started setting out the fletching supplies and arranging them on his side table neatly. As he sat down to notch the first shaft for the feathers, Sebastian decided that perhaps life as a Templar wouldn't be so bad.  _I'll talk to the Revered Mother at supper tonight._

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

"Absolutely not!" The Revered Mother shrieked at Sebastian's request to join the Order. "I am under orders to make sure that you are invested as a Brother of the Chantry. I can show you your father's directive, if it please you," she admonished.

"My father sent orders that I  _must_  become a brother?" Sebastian asked sarcastically, unconvinced as he rolled his eyes.

The Revered Mother boxed his ear. "You'll learn not to sass your elders yet, Sebastian. Here," she rummaged through a desk drawer, producing a large folio with his name written on it. Inside, she rifled through the papers until she produced one folded letter with a broken wax seal, "these are the orders that came with you from Starkhaven."

 _Does everyone have a file that big, or just the ones who are constantly in trouble?_ Sebastian took the paper, hands shaking as he unfolded it. He scanned the page; it was a very brief missive, direct and to the point as was Aidan's style. Reaching the signature, Sebastian had not seen anything that indicated that he was to become a Brother no matter what. Then he saw the postscript. Disgusted, he thrust the paper back at the Revered Mother and snuffed. "You could have forged that for all I know," he retorted.

The Revered Mother boxed his other ear. "Even if he hadn't given such a directive, do you honestly—after all the stunts you have pulled in your short time here— _honestly_  think that I would let you join the Order? Maker strike me down if the thought ever crosses my mind!"

 _Dammit. I'm stuck here._ "Very well. A simple no would have sufficed," Sebastian growled as he got up.

"Remember, young man, you are to be in quarters," The Revered Mother mocked as he slammed the door behind him.

Sebastian reached his room, slamming the door and throwing himself on the bed in a snit. And in the moments that followed, Sebastian Vael made a very important decision.  _I'm out of here. Tonight. I don't care about the endowment or Starkhaven…I'll make my own way, somehow…pick pockets if I need to, but I will not suffer one moment more under that horrible woman!_

He set to work, opening his foot locker and rummaging through his items, narrowing the precious items down even further than he had been forced to when he left Starkhaven. He shoved his things—including his bow and quiver—into a burlap laundry sack.  _If questioned, I'm merely taking my laundry down and going right back to my room._

Growing increasingly nervous, Sebastian's eyes kept flicking to the narrow horizontal window near the ceiling of his room. He wished it wasn't so high, so shallow; it led directly to the courtyard and freedom a few hundred yards beyond but he'd never fit through it. At last, the natural light stopped filtering through the opening; night had finally fallen, and the dormitories had grown quiet for the night. Sebastian flung the burlap sack over his shoulder and blew out his candle with a quick puff. He opened the door quickly to keep it from squeaking and pulled it shut behind him, keeping the knob turned to avoid the clicking of the latch as it caught. He walked quickly, quietly through the corridors—no need to sneak just yet as he was still heading in the direction of the laundry. Once he passed the laundry, however, Sebastian hugged the walls, clinging to shadows, as he tip-toed through the colonnaded nave of the Chantry, sheltering behind every column along the way.

He was nearly to the door when he heard two men talking. Suctioned to the column, he slowly turned his head just so he could see the figures in his peripheral view. Black armor. Bright gold Chantry sun.  _Seekers! Shit. I'm doomed!_  Sebastian was still torn between staying put and hoping for the best or turning tail and returning to quarters when the men moved closer…and Sebastian could finally make out what they were saying because they now stood just on the other side of the column he was hiding behind.

"So you finally visit from Starkhaven. What have you found out?"

"It's a mess. Prince Vael just executed Lord Heatherton and his boy, and exiled the rest of his family for treason. Apparently he was in with Lord Renly Harimann of Kirkwall, to overthrow the Crown," the second voice replied.

"Harimann… _Harimann_ …wait, wasn't he—"

"Yes," the second man hissed. "He was looking for  _him_ …and willing to take down the whole family in the process."

"So they don't know… _where_  he is."

"No. You've done well, Richard."

"Speaking of, I need to go make sure my charge is in quarters. It's quite handy, since the little shit keeps getting into trouble. Gets confined to quarters again just as soon as he's released from the prior stint. At this rate, he'll be confined to quarters when he takes his vows."

"Well I'll let you go then, Richard."

"Thanks for the update, Fordham."

Sebastian gasped and dared another look around the pillar after he heard the men take several steps away from his hiding spot. The second man, the Seeker assigned to keep an eye on what was happening in Starkhaven, was none other than the very same Fordham that had kept post outside his cell in the Keep and had accompanied him on the trip here.  _I wonder if Captain Ryon knows, if Father knows of this._  But there was no time to reflect; Seeker Richard, whom Sebastian had come to know as  _Brother_  Richard, was heading to the dormitories to make sure he was in bed. He would never dare to come for the nightly check in Seeker armor, though, so Sebastian knew he had a precious few minutes of lead-time on the man. He crept through the columns' shadows, back to the corridor, where he walked as quickly as he could—running would have only made noise and raised suspicions. He re-entered his room, shutting the door quietly and striking a flint to re-light the candle. He stashed the burlap sack under his bed and flopped on top of it, grabbing a book just as Brother Richard knocked once and burst inside.

"Good evening, Sebastian," Brother Richard muttered. "You're looking a bit flush. Do you feel alright?" He crossed the room, putting the back of his hand on Sebastian's forehead. Despite the slight beading sweat, his temperature was normal. "You feel fine, I guess. A bit sweaty, though."

"I was doing some pushups a few minutes ago. Gotta keep fit, right?"

"Yes…that's…good. Very smart of you, Sebastian." Brother Richard suddenly bore a strange expression on his face, as though he wanted to say something but didn't dare to. He shook his head. "Well, anyway…just doing the nightly bed-check. Don't forget to wash up before you turn in; going to bed all sweaty does nothing for the complexion." Brother Richard turned and left. As soon as the latch clicked home, Sebastian let out a huge sigh of relief. He rose from the bed, washed up as Richard had advised, and decided that his flight might have to wait a night or two longer.  _Definitely need to make sure I don't get impatient and try to get out before bed check next time._

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

The next day, Sebastian was finishing wrapping sinew around a new arrow when someone knocked on his door. "Sebastian," Sister Maureen said primly, "You have visitors." She opened the door a bit wider, revealing a very hesitant Corbinian and Gavin. As soon as they saw Sebastian, however, they rushed past the petite Sister and plopped on top of their younger brother.

Gavin cringed as he felt Sebastian's new arrow snap under his weight. "Sorry, brother," he muttered.

"It's quite alright, Gavin. What are you two doing here? I didn't think Father would allow anyone to see me!"

"This is…uh…an  _unofficial_  visit," Corbinian mumbled. He spoke the truth; when Aidan had asked his sons to travel on his behalf to meet with an Orlesian emissary about renegotiating a trade agreement, he specifically told his boys to not visit their brother.  _But since when have we obeyed Father?_

"We had to make sure you were alright, Seb. I hadn't gotten a letter from you in a while," Gavin chided.

"I'm sorry for that. I've…uh…"

"He's been confined to quarters three times since he got here," Sister Maureen spat. "Your brother has been a royal pain, he has. Initiates under punishment lose messenger privileges."

Corbinian glared at his brother. "Now…Sebastian…you  _promised_ …"

"Well, how would  _YOU_  like being shoved off to the Chantry, separated from all your friends, all your family? Told it was for your own good, knowing full well it was because your father just didn't want you? How would you react,  _huh_? You can't even begin to  _imagine_ , Corbinian," Sebastian yelled. "You can't even imagine because you've always been Father's favorite, his special little boy. Gavin and I got the dregs of his attention, and I got the least because I was supposed to be a damned girl!"

"Sebastian," Gavin broke in gently. "Please…try to calm down.  _We_  know Father was hardest on you.  _We_  don't think it's fair that you're here. But it is what it is, and I think Father intends to bring you home soon."

Corbinian's eyes flew open slightly when Gavin mentioned their father's intent. He knew otherwise, that Sebastian wasn't coming home anytime soon. Their father didn't speak much of the situation, but Corbinian had gleaned enough through bits and pieces of conversations he overheard that the situation surrounding Colleen's death was far more complex and far more dangerous than their father was letting on.

"Brothers," Corbinian started firmly. "I think we need to talk, now that we're all together."

Gavin and Sebastian stopped their quibbling and stared at their older brother. Gavin shot the Sister a look over his shoulder. "Excuse me…Sister Maureen? We need to discuss family affairs. Would you mind…?"

"Fine," the Sister replied as she left in a huff, shutting the door firmly behind her.

Corbinian flicked his eyes towards Gavin. "Thanks. It's best that we avoid any extra ears. You're not going to like what I have to say. Sebastian…Father had to execute Lord Heatherton for treason. He was involved in a plot with Lord Harimann of Kirkwall. I'm not sure why there was the connection with Harimann…but they were after  _you_ , Sebastian. I…I don't think Father is going to be able to bring you home safely any time soon. So I need you to try…more than ever, I need you to try to  _behave_. You need to stay here and finish your year quietly. Father requested you be sent to the Chantry in Denerim when the year is up.  _People_  don't know you're here, Sebastian, so if you can manage to behave and stay quiet,  _people_  shouldn't find out where you are, if you get my drift. Father isn't being very forthcoming, but with this plot exposed, it is clear that you are still in immense danger. Perhaps when you get shipped to Denerim, you should even consider using an alias."

"No," Sebastian said firmly.

"Seb, be reasonable. It's a small, temporary adjustment," Gavin murmured.

"No. No, no,  _NO_! I will  _NOT_  change my name, and I will  _NOT_ live in fear! If I die, I die as a Vael, and everyone will know it. Let them come. Let them try and strike me down in the Chantry," Sebastian hissed. "By the way, did you know that Ryon's man Fordham is a bloody  _Seeker_? He's been spying in Starkhaven—watching us—for Maker knows how long? And right here in the Chantry, there's a Seeker that runs around—acting like he's a Brother—watching me! I mean, if I'm not already in danger from the Seekers, what's one more lunatic Marcher?"

"I know about Fordham… _and_  Brother Richard," Corbinian whispered. His brothers looked at him like wounded animals. "What?  _Every_  principality has a covert Seeker presence! I've known about Fordham since Father acceded to the throne and told me. And Father  _requested_  a security detail for you, Sebastian. That's why Brother Richard tails your every move. I talked to him a bit ago when Gavin was in the confessional. He said he saw you in the colonnade of the nave last night, trying to sneak out. He was quite pleased that he didn't have to chase you down and kick your stupid arse."

Sebastian gasped and started to protest his innocence, but thought it better to remain quiet on the matter. He leaned into Gavin instead, whispering, " _You_  went to confession?"

"Went in there and described the last time I had sex in graphic detail. I could hear the Brother jerking off as I did. Almost offered to give him a  _hand_. Priceless," Gavin whispered in reply, causing Corbinian to roll his eyes.

"Can we please be serious, Gavin? This is a really intense situation. Sebastian…like I said…please, please,  _PLEASE_  be discreet the rest of the time that you're here. I don't know if the plot against you stopped with Heatherton's death. Keep your wits about you, and since you won't use an alias…at least don't go shouting your name from the bell tower? And since it's  _you_  I'm talking to…make sure the girls you fuck don't either."

Sebastian nodded as he chewed on his lower lip, trying not to laugh at the thought of making it with some slutty initiate up in the bell tower.  _Dammit. I wouldn't have thought to do it there…and now it's going to be all I want to do_. "Aye. I can do that. Thank you both for coming…you have no idea how lonely I've been here."

"Well, being on constant restrictions doesn't help, I'm sure," Gavin snipped.

"So what's been going on at home? Any exciting news?"

"Well,  _I_  don't have any," Corbinian started, "But Gavin here has something to share…"

"Shut up, Cor," Gavin grumbled.

"Oh yeah, Gavin? Something juicy? Come on…don't hold out on me, brother," Sebastian teased.

"Fine. I'll tell you. It's not like a huge deal or anything. I'm betrothed," Gavin said nonchalantly.

"Have you met her? Is she a giant cow like Mara?" Sebastian blurted, receiving a prompt punch on the arm from Corbinian. "What? You cannot deny your wife is a biiiiiiiiig lass."

"You'd be surprised. Motherhood has done her body a lot of good," Corbinian said with a sly smile. "But no, Bria is a slight, tiny little thing."

Gavin continued the description. "Pale as a ghost…white-blonde hair…green eyes…huge, firm—"

"Heart. She's got a huge, firm  _heart_ ," Corbinian teased.

Sebastian snickered, then grew serious. "Does she know…you  _know_ …"

"Aye, I told her on the day we met," Gavin said as a huge smile crossed his face.

Sebastian waited for Gavin to finish. "…And?"

"I'm happy to report that she is not only willing to allow me to continue my lifestyle…but has requested to  _join in_  from time to time," Gavin beamed. "In fact, the time she met my lover, Bryan, was what I told the Brother about in the booth today."

Corbinian's eyes flew wide. "You told a Brother… _that_? Didn't you say that you and Bryan both—"

Sebastian interrupted, still in disbelief over his brother's incredible fortune. "Wait. Wait a minute…Gavin…your future wife not only slept with you before marriage, but let your lover join you?"

Gavin tried to act like it was no big deal, but inside he was aching to brag to his little brother about his future wife's… _eagerness_  to please. "Would you like to know what she  _asked_ us to do?"

"Of course!" Sebastian smiled wickedly.

Gavin leaned in for dramatic effect. "She asked us—begged us, really—to take her at the same time," he whispered into Sebastian's ear.

"Holy Maker, that sounds awkward," Sebastian muttered.  _And it also sounds kind of hot._

"It kind of was, at first…but once we all got coordinated and set into rhythm, it was amazing," Gavin breathed. "Thank the Maker that Father managed to find the sluttiest noble girl in all the Free Marches to give me as a wife."

"I'm sure it wasn't Father's intent for you to be sharing your betrothed with another man like that," Corbinian grumbled. "Sebastian…we should get going. Have any messages for home?"

Sebastian sighed.  _Of course they have to leave right away._ "Well, hugs to Mother, Gran, Aileen, Hannah…and Madeline, if you would, please," he said, turning to Gavin when he mentioned Madeline.

"Of course. She's been asking after you. She hopes you find peace here," Gavin replied. "As we all do. Look, Sebastian…we never got the chance to talk to you about Colleen—"

"No need," Sebastian mumbled. "I'm dealing with it in my own way. But thank you for your thoughts. Just promise me…if you find Rob MacSwain…save him for me? Lock him away, send for me—whereever I end up—and I will come take care of it."

Gavin looked at Corbinian. "You got it, Sebastian," the eldest Vael said. "It  _should_  be you. But…we really need to get going. We have our meeting with the emissary in an hour. You look well, Sebastian, and it looks like you've found a way to keep up with your archery and fletching."

"The Templars want me," Sebastian blurted. "But apparently Father sent instructions that I be made a Brother no matter what. Fortunately, Ser Savarin, one of the Knight-Captains here, has given me free use of his supplies and facilities."

"I can speak to Father if you'd like," Corbinian offered. "I think you could do some real good as a Templar, and you can certainly train for that in Denerim."

"Please do…thanks," Sebastian said eagerly. The Vael boys rose and shared hugs. Corbinian and Gavin left and Sebastian closed the door slowly after watching them disappear around the corner. He returned to his bed, picking up the broken, half-fletched arrow shaft, chuckling at its demise. Sitting heavily on the edge of the bed, Sebastian sighed and buried his face in his hands as tears started to fall.

_Fine. So I can't leave…not now. But with Andraste as my witness, as soon as I know my family is safe…I am out of the Chantry._


	15. Good Intentions Count for Something, Right?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian gets asked to help a fellow initiate with a personal problem and ends up walking right into a trap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the latter part of the chapter, the name Michel is pronounced like Michelle, not Michael. Also, in that part of the chapter there is a bit of sexytimes that involve daggers and light bondage. Just so you know.

**_Starkhaven, two months later:_ **

_From the Office of the Divine Justinia V to Prince Aidan Vael of Starkhaven, Greetings._

_The Divine wishes to keep you abreast of your initiate's actions and progress in the Grand Cathedral. As you know, your initiate has had quite the difficult time adapting to a life of quiet reflection and personal discipline. He spent much of the first half of his year here confined to quarters and assigned to various unpleasantries as punishment. However, as of late, the Divine is pleased to report that your initiate has settled down significantly. He has not ben confined to quarters at any time in the last two months, and has performed every task asked of him without complaint. The Divine has every confidence that at the completion of his initiate year, he will be ready to take his vows, as is tradition. The Divine is aware that the initiate has been recruited by one of our Knight-Captains for service among the Templar Archery regiment. She is aware of your prior orders, as well as the latest missive regarding his future assignments, and has not allowed him to train in a formal capacity. The Knight-Captain, however, has been generous in allowing your initiate the use of Templar facilities and supplies. The initiate approached the Revered Mother yet again yesterday, seeking to join the Order. The Divine has rejected this latest request as well, as per your order. In all, she is pleased with your initiate's progress and is certain that life in the Grand Cathedral is having the intended effect on his personage. The office will send future progress reports as needed. May the Maker's light shine upon you. Farewell._

Aidan smiled as he read the Divine's letter.  _Clever of her to not use his name._ But he furrowed his brows slightly as he noted that Sebastian was—yet again—seeking to join the Templars. His sweet wife had requested that he allow Sebastian to join, but it was simply a step too far; the additional vows would truly put Sebastian beyond reach. Aidan would never be able to bring him home to serve with the Royal Archers.  _It is troubling, though, that Sebastian is unable to put his skills to use. At least he has the ability to keep fit, thanks to the Knight-Captain._

The Prince of Starkhaven sat at his desk, holding the Divine's letter, for several long minutes while he mulled over his options.  _I do intend to bring him home, and I do intend to have him lead the Royal Archers…but he'll never believe me if I simply tell him in a letter. I think I need to demonstrate my intent._

But he couldn't go to Sebastian in person to tell him of his intentions; he didn't dare. Aidan knew he'd be tailed and his enemies would know where the Black Sheep of the Vael family had been banished to. Besides that, Aidan figured that he was the last person Sebastian wanted to see. He cringed as he recalled finding out that his sons had visited Sebastian—despite his orders to not go to the Chantry—and the boy had sent messages for everyone except him.

And then it came to him like a bolt of lightning.

He would have armor commissioned for his son.  _After all, it will be his 18th Name Day soon._

Aidan smiled to himself as he rose and left his study, opting to not wear his diadem or other trappings of royalty as he wanted to go out and be among the people without causing a fuss. He passed through the Great Hall of the palace and out the front double doors. The warm sun was welcoming to his skin and making hasty work of the scattered snow still on the ground. Soon the trees would bud and flowers would bloom, and the annual Springtime Festival would follow not long behind. He made his way to Weston—the blacksmith to whom all royal commissions were assigned—never dropping his guard, yet managing to appear calm, cool, and collected. Aidan ducked as he passed through the open door and marveled at the blazing forges, at how Weston could work in such heat every single day. It wasn't unbearable now, but during the intense summers it had to be downright painful to work in such conditions. He spied the grey-haired, scraggly-bearded smith and shouted. "Hello, Weston!"

The smith made a few careful strikes on the piece he was working on, plunged it into some water, and looked up. Weston smiled when he recognized the Prince.  _Royal work is good-payin' work!_ "Aye, Your Highness. What shall I craft for you this fine spring day?"

Aidan approached, taking care to not get too close to the hot workpieces that surrounded Weston. "I need some armor made. Royal Archer armor. It needs to be your very best, Weston, because it will be for the new Commander of the Archers. I'll get you the measurements as soon as I can. Do you have time to do this?"

Weston swiped a forearm across his brow, removing the beady sweat but leaving behind a black streak of soot. "Royal Archer armor, eh? For a new Commander, no less? I'll  _make_  time for it, how 'bout that?"

Aidan smiled and nodded. "Could we make a couple of embellishments, though? This armor is extra-special, because the new Commander is also a Brother of the Faith."

"A Templar? Here?" Weston's eyes flew wide.

"No. Not a Templar. Merely a Brother who has exceptional skills. Could we maybe make the chestplate out of white dragonbone or something?"

Weston scratched at his beard, patchy from burn scars that refused to let whiskers sprout there anymore. "C'mere," he muttered, gesturing towards his back office. Aidan followed and watched as Weston dug through messy piles on his workbench. "I'm workin' on somethin' new… _here_! Here it is." He handed Aidan a patch of mail that was not made with rings but with small plates of metal. It was like the skin of a snake, only shiny silver, and quietly rippled as he passed the patch over the back of one hand.

"Nice, eh? I call it scale mail. It's like splintmail, but without having to be bound to leathers. The scales overlap, so there won't be any gaps. And, as you see, it looks real nice. Quiet, too. It doesn't jingle like traditional mail if put together right. How 'bout we start with this as the base—as a long vest, perhaps—then put a white chestplate over it. The back of the chestplate can have buckles to receive the archer's quiver and a loop for the bow itself. Put it all over the Starkhaven blue linen. What d'ye think?"

Aidan looked at the scale and pictured it in his mind in a larger garment. It would be shiny, slinky, and unmistakeably fine when combined with white dragonbone pieces. But blue linen? Too light. Sebastian's arms and legs would be too exposed if the scales were only in a vest.

"Make the blue linen black leathers instead, and give the Commander some greaves of the dragonbone as well."

"It'll get awfully heavy, Your Highness. How 'bout we do leather on top, give him a wolf-fur hood, make the vest a mid-thigh piece, and let the Commander have linens on bottom? If he has greaves, that'll be good protection for his lower half," Weston offered.

Aidan mulled the idea, picturing it in his head.  _Sebastian will look very regal…_ "Perfect. Put the  _lion rampant_ on the chestplate. Can you make a belt buckle out of the dragonbone too?"

"But of course, Sire. Get me those measurements as soon as you can. I cannot get much done without it."

"Of course," Aidan said with a grin as he ducked out of the blacksmith's hut and returned to the palace, making his way to Gavin's quarters. He knocked on the door, opening it when he heard the muffled  _come in_  after several long moments _._

"Gavin, I need your help with something…but I need you to keep it quiet," Aidan mumbled softly as he sat on the edge of his son's bed.

Gavin looked at him quizzically. "Of course, Father. Anything. You know that."

"I know Sebastian's banishment to the Chantry has been a huge source of discord between Corbinian, you, and me. It was the hardest decision I've ever had to make, believe me. But I do intend to bring him home… _someday_ …when I know it is safe for not only him but the rest of us. When I do bring him home, he will be the Commander of the Royal Archers," Aidan admitted.

Gavin couldn't help but grin widely. "Father, he'll be so pleased. I'm so very happy to hear this. I won't tell anyone, I swear. But what does this have to do with me?"

"Well…as a show of my commitment to bring him home someday, I've commissioned special armor for him. But I don't know his measurements, and I'm sure they've changed since his last set of splintmail. When you and Corbinian went to him a couple of months ago…well…did you happen to pay enough attention to his appearance to be able to tell Weston his approximate sizes?"

Gavin ran a hand through his cropped auburn hair as he recalled both Sebastian's appearance and how his arms fit differently around his little brother's shoulders during their hug, mentally comparing them to other men he had known. "Aye. He's grown a bit since the splintmail. Let's just say he could probably wear Grandda's armor…with a few inches taken in in the waist, of course."

Aidan's eyes flew wide, briefly, as he processed the difference in size just over a few months.  _He must be practicing his archery for hours a day to be that broad in the chest and shoulders now._ "And how tall, would you say?"

Gavin scratched at his chin. "Taller than Corbinian by about two inches…so perhaps six-foot-three?"

"Really?" Aidan gasped.  _Not bad for being such a sickly, scrawny baby._ "I wouldn't have guessed he'd have another growth spurt like that."

Gavin got up abruptly, crossing over to his window. "Well, he  _is_  a teenager, he  _is_  working very hard on his archery every day…and he  _is_  a Vael. I believe he's been training with sword and shield as well. The Templars seem to have taken a liking to him even though…"

Aidan followed his son, murmuring low in his ear. "Gavin. I  _couldn't_  let him join. I couldn't make it so he could never return. If he were to join the Order…that's a lifetime commitment with vows that bind him even tighter than the Chantry."

Gavin cast a sidelong glance at his father. "Speaking of…has he…" he trailed off, looking away again.

Aidan stared out of the window at nothing as he spoke. "Not yet. I got a letter from the Divine giving me an update. She says he's not ready yet, but ought to be by the time his year is up. That's when the initiates are scheduled to take their vows, so he's right on schedule, so to speak."

"And you still intend to have him sent to Denerim?" Gavin asked, clamping a hand over his mouth as he realized that he shouldn't have let on that he knew his Father's plan.

Aidan glared at Gavin for a brief moment, but softened. "So Cor told you, eh? Oh well. Just keep it quiet. Yes. He's still going to Denerim after he takes his vows."

Gavin nodded lightly. "That's good. When I was in the tavern a few days ago, I overheard some men talking about the unsolved murder—"

"Who were they?" Aidan demanded.

"Nobodies, Father. Peasants. No nobility. I would have brought that to you immediately."

Aidan scrunched his nose and turned to his son. "We need to discuss your upcoming wedding—and your future duties to the Crown—soon, Gavin. But for now, please go to Weston and give him Sebastian's description. But do NOT use his name, please. Nobody outside of the immediate family must ever know where Sebastian is."

"You got it, Father. I'll come see you after I speak to Weston," Gavin muttered.

"Perfect. Thank you, Gavin. Trust me, marriage isn't so bad. Have you talked to Bria much yet?" Aidan asked and smiled, the crows' feet at the corners of his eyes crinkling warmly.

"I have, a little, and I find that she is a most… _suitable_  lass. Thank you, Father. We should enjoy a long, happy marriage," Gavin said, smiling slyly.

"And I trust you've discussed your… _habits_  with her?"

Gavin's mouth dropped open.

Aidan wrapped an arm around Gavin's shoulder. "We  _all_  know, Gavin, and we accept you for who you are. I wouldn't dream of stifling your lifestyle. In fact, I think you'd be surprised at what your Uncle Alec gets up to in his spare time," Aidan said with a wink. "That said, however, you do have duties to the Crown. Fortunately, as a royal, there is little anyone can do or say about what you do behind closed doors as long as you aren't hurting the people with your actions. And I don't see how lovemaking between two men is harmful in the slightest…just don't forget to get a baby in your wife from time to time."

Gavin roughly wiped away an errant tear as he whispered a hoarse thanks to his Father. Aidan left the room quietly, and as soon as he was gone, Gavin let out a huge breath. He uttered a thanks to Andraste as he plopped down onto the bed and ran two hands back and forth through his wiry auburn hair.

"You can come out now, Bryan," Gavin whispered. The half-naked servant crept out from behind the dressing screen. "How much did you hear?"

"Nothing that would ever leave my lips, m'lord."

"How many times—" Gavin started to protest.

"I'm sorry… _my love_ ," Bryan whispered as he kissed the top of Gavin's head. Gavin, still seated, leaned into Bryan's stomach and wrapped his arms around the servant's lithe, hard-muscled frame.

"It seems we have my father's blessing," the middle Vael son murmured against Bryan's heated skin.

"I suspect that his knowledge of your lifestyle had a hand in his choosing of Bria," Bryan said with a wicked glint in his eye. "I, for one, am  _most_  satisfied with your future wife."

Gavin grinned as he pulled Bryan onto his lap, smothering him with kisses. "I'm terrifically pleased to hear that. But get dressed; I have to go take care of some things for Father. I'll call for you later… _and_  Bria," he said as he urged Bryan off his lap before the pair got too carried away. He pulled on a shirt, tucking it into his kilt, and pulled on his favorite pair of black boots. Gavin hurried off to speak with Weston.

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

Gavin listened carefully as Weston described the Royal Archer armor that he and Prince Aidan had designed. "That sounds like it'll be a spectacular suit of armor, Weston. You'll outdo yourself, that's for sure. Might I make one suggestion?"

"Sure," Weston said as he tilted his head curiously. "What did you have in mind?"

"Well, our new Commander is a devout Andrastian—a Brother of the Faith," Gavin started.

"I knew that much from your Father. But he was clear in saying that this new Commander is not a Templar."

"Correct. Anyway, I think the armor should reflect that. Could you do something with the belt buckle, perhaps?" Gavin paused a moment as he thought. "Of course! Can you make the belt buckle look like Andraste?"

Weston smiled. "Of course. I can do anything with dragonbone. I'm the most skilled smith in all the Free Marches!"

"Perfect," Gavin purred as he slapped the smith playfully on the back and left. He willed himself to keep from laughing as he exited the building, but when he got about fifty feet away from the door Gavin could no longer hold back as he doubled over, laughing maniacally, tears spilling from his deep brown eyes. He hoped fiercely that he would be able to see Sebastian's face when he got his armor.  _Andraste's face…on his crotch! He'll die of embarassment._

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

**_Val Royeaux, Grand Cathedral:_ **

Sebastian eyed the blond, green-eyed man warily. "Why would you ask  _me_  to come with you? Don't you want to take someone you actually  _know_?"

Michel pursed his lips, a mischevious look in his eyes. "Because…I'm aware of your… _reputation_. I need your help with a little—uh— _problem_  I have."

"And that is…?" Sebastian asked, amused.

"I'm a virgin," Michel hissed. "And after tomorrow, I will remain so for the rest of my life. I've never kissed a woman, not even held her hand. You, however, have slept with what—three, four initates in your time here? I need your help in talking to women."

Sebastian gave Michel a thin smile. "Five. I've slept with five women while here, but none in the last two months. I'm trying to keep a low profile now, Michel. I need to behave so I can take my own vows as scheduled."

"Sebastian…please…I'm  _desperate_. Imagine if you had been sent here without knowing the touch of a woman, certain to spend the rest of your life robbed of that aspect of life. The Chantry…what they ask in that respect…it's too difficult. And I don't think it's what the Maker intends. He wants us to have children and be happy. But as his most loyal servants, we are ordered to never do so?"

Michel's invocation of the Maker's will was the deciding factor. "I'll do it. What time do you want to go?"

"As soon as night falls. I have spoken with one of the servants in the laundry. They'll let us out of that door, which leads into the part of the courtyard closest to the river. We can take one of the rowboats to the other side and the brothel isn't far from there."

Sebastian was taken by surprise at the level of planning Michel had gone to. "You've been thinking a long time about this, haven't you?"

Michel turned red. "Um…yes. Ever since I heard about you and Lily. I would have asked sooner, but since she was kicked out after your little escapade in the storeroom, I thought I should wait until it's essentially  _too late_ to be kicked out. See…unless we get arrested, I'll take my vows tomorrow as planned. Once I take those vows, I'll be virtually untouchable. I mean, have you ever heard of an invested Brother or Sister getting kicked out? I certainly haven't and I've lived in the Chantry my whole life. Chantry life is all I know and all I want, but…I just  _need_  this. I need to know what it's like. I feel it's a very important part of human existence."

"Say no more. I'll meet you in the laundry room at nightfall."

The young man smiled brightly. "I knew you'd say yes. We'll have a grand time, Sebastian. Thank you ever so much!" Michel gave him a brief hug and the men returned to their brazier duty.

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

Sebastian glanced up at his window.  _It's dark. Finally. Let's just get this over with._  He swung his legs over the side of his bed, sitting up. He let out a huff and stood, glancing at himself in the looking glass. He still wore his Chantry robes, but underneath he had on plainclothes. He had instructed Michel to do the same, and they would leave the robes in the rowboat. That way, Sebastian reasoned, they could move through the Cathedral without raising much suspicion and not be turned away from the brothel because of the unmistakeable Chantry sun insignia on their chests.

Sebastian paused as he reached the door and turned back, crouching to open his storage chest and rifling through the contents. He put his hands on leather. Pulling the item out of the cluttered chaos, Sebastian looked at the sheathed dagger. He took a deep breath and dropped to a knee, strapping the weapon around his calf and pulling his boot up and over it, so just the barest hint of the grip showed.  _I don't know how the tavern folk are here in Val Royeaux, but back in Starkhaven, it'd be considered a suicidal act to go into one without any weapons. Better safe than sorry._  He closed the chest and rose to his feet, straightening his robes once more.

 _I'm doing this as a favor. Only as a favor. I will not fall into old habits,_ Sebastian told himself as he slipped out of his room. He moved through the hallways, acting normally, until he reached the laundry room. Opening the door, he found Michel already there, twiddling his thumbs as he shifted on his feet.

"Oh, thank the Maker you're here. I was starting to worry," Michel blurted.

"You've been here for a while, haven't you," Sebastian asked, amused. Michel only looked down and blushed. "Let's go then, time's wasting."

Michel brightened and led Sebastian out the door of the laundry room. They were now in the massive courtyard. Sebastian led them to the river, sticking to the shadowed, windowless wall of the Cathedral. They reached the bank, where a small rowboat was moored.

"Have you ever rowed a boat before, Michel?" The blond shook his head to the negative. "I have. Take a seat…and a deep breath, because you are far too nervous right now. Honestly, it's no big deal—losing your virginity. I barely remember it," Sebastian whispered as he silently rowed. It wasn't a complete lie; he remembered some parts of that first night with Madeline, but most were obscured by drunkenness. What he did remember, though, never left him, and he had chased those fragments—desperate to recreate them—every time he had lain with a woman since.

They went upriver about a quarter mile, and tied the rowboat there. Both men removed their Chantry robes, revealing modest plainclothes underneath. Sebastian climbed from the boat and turned around to give Michel a hand. He just stood there, in the boat, and Sebastian's breath caught in his throat.  _What is this, a trap? I knew it was a bad idea to agree to this!_ "Michel? Are you coming?"

Michel looked down and fidgeted for a moment, mumbling something to himself as he neatly folded his chantry robe. Finally, after several tense moments, he finally took Sebastian's extended hand and climbed ashore. They climbed the bank and emerged in an alley between the brothel and tavern. Sebastian never looked back; if he had he might have noticed the scant plume of smoke that had started to erupt from the rowboat.

"Sorry about that, Sebastian. I just kind of panicked there for a moment," Michel muttered.

Sebastian smiled warmly at the nervous man. "You need a drink first, to settle your nerves?"

"I-I've never had anything stronger than the bit of sacramental wine we get at services," Michel admitted.

"Well…if you're looking for the human experience…then you'd better get a tank or two of ale in your belly," Sebastian said playfully as he grabbed Michel's arm and yanked him towards the tavern. They stumbled through the door awkwardly and Michel's face blanched as the reality of his plan was coming to fruition. Sebastian jerked his head towards a table in the corner and they sat there, with the Prince waving for a barmaid to serve them.

A  _few_ mugs later, Sebastian felt like he was just getting started…but Michel was fast approaching that state of drunkenness where things go from giddy to awful. He was just about to take Michel from tavern to brothel when a pair of pretty girls approached the table.

"May we join you, or is this strictly a boy's night," the taller of the two asked. Sebastian sized her up; she had pale skin, voluptuous curves….and long, pin-straight black hair. At second glance, he noticed that she had pale blue—nearly grey—eyes. His heart started to pound as he racked up the similarities in appearance between this girl and his beloved Colleen. Without another thought, he slid over on his bench and gestured for her to sit. The other girl—a moderately attractive brunette with hazel eyes and a plump derierre—sidled up to Michel and smiled at him, blushing as his brilliant green eyes met hers.

They made small talk for several minutes, with Sebastian soon finding himself fighting the urge to reach out and kiss his girl because he had so much trouble physically distinguishing her from Colleen. He looked at Michel and smiled; the shy young man seemed to be having no trouble with his lass. Their hands were threaded together and they were whispering sweet nothings to each other. It wasn't long before Michel and his girl rose and hurriedly excused themselves, giggling as they rushed down the hallway leading to the boarding rooms at the rear of the tavern.

After Michel and his girl—Sebastian found that he had not caught her name—left, he looked to his own lass. Laetitia was her name, she said, and she was born and raised right there in Val Royeaux. They talked for a while longer until, in a surprising move, Laetitia cupped her hand behind Sebastian's head and pulled him in for a long, hungry kiss. Sebastian responded instinctively, returning the gesture and running one hand up her thigh, on the outside of her skirt. He kneaded his hand against her hip and moaned lightly against her lips, the buzz tickling ever-so-slightly. She broke away and got up, taking his hand roughly and yanking him up from the bench as well. They went down the very same hallway that Michel and his girl had disappeared down a few moments before.

Through a slight crack in the planked door, Michel and Janine watched as Laetitia led Sebastian down the corridor, to the room which they had paid for them to use. "Wonderful," Michel murmured as he backed away from the door. He took Janine by the shoulders and leaned in to give her a long, heated kiss. "You are a wonderful wife, love. Thank you so much for your help. He really did go for the whole virginity schtick. And where did you find Laetitia?"

"She brought the information on Vael's whereabouts to  _us_ , actually," the brunette replied. "We had been recruiting her for quite some time, and one day she came in and told us all about this guy her sister had slept with that had got her kicked out of the Chantry. Lo and behold...Sebastian Vael had been found. Anyway, this is her final test, so to speak. Assassinate a Prince. If she can pull this off, she's our new rogue. The Red Iron out of Kirkwall was after her too...I had to practically promise her the moon and stars to get her to pick us. If she succeeds...she gets half of the bounty."

Michel grumbled a bit at this news but kissed her again. "The bounty is large enough that I don't mind splitting it that way...you know, we should make use of this room, since we paid for it. All this talk of losing my virginity has had me hot and bothered all day." He roughly shoved Janine against the door and started to unlace his trousers. Janine watched for only a moment before she reached under her skirts and pulled down her smalls, kicking them away as though they were on fire. Michel smiled wickedly as he rucked up her skirts. She held them dutifully as he ran hands up the backs of her thighs and lifted her, holding her against the door as she wrapped her legs around his waist. He kissed her again as he entered her without warning. Michel moved against her over and over, the coil in his belly winding tighter and tighter as they both quickly climaxed together, reveling in the feel of each other, in the perfection of their trick. He let his wife down gently and kissed her sweaty forehead. "This plan has gone better than I could have imagined. If Laetitia is worth her salt, Vael is already dead or halfway there. I'm so glad you found someone else to seduce him. I'm not sure I could have watched you do it. I mean…"

"Say no more, husband," Janine whispered, putting a finger to Michel's lips to silence him. "I didn't want to seduce him any more than you wanted me to. But we should get back to the rendezvous point; Laetitia should be on her way by now."

"You're right,  _mon cheri_. We should go," Michel murmured as he finished lacing his trousers. He ran a hand through his hair to smooth it and opened the door. Janine looked up and down the hallway and slipped out, with Michel close behind. They kept up the act of being blushing lovebirds as they exited through the front door of the tavern, strolling along hand-in-hand until they came to the third alley on their left and disappeared.

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

**_Meanwhile, just down the hall…_ **

Sebastian closed the boarding room's door behind him, shaking his head as he scolded himself.  _Weak. Weak, weak, WEAK. But how can I resist? She looks just like…_

"Sebastian," Laetitia purred. "Come here. I need to feel those broad archer's hands against me."

 _Did I tell her I'm an archer? I don't think I did._ Sebastian turned around and gave his carefully practiced smile—the one he gave all the girls he was just about to bed. He stalked towards the black-haired beauty, who had laid back on the bed, propping herself up by the elbows and watching him approach with pursed lips. He watched as her pink tongue swiped her upper lip slowly and groaned.  _I haven't been this pent-up since I waited that year for Colleen. How fitting this lass looks so much like her._

In a smooth motion, Sebastian was on top of Laetitia, his mouth claiming hers, broad tanned hands roaming wildly over her fleshy curves. Every kiss, every touch elicited a new sound from her and before long Sebastian found himself rather unwilling to be patient, his animalistic side demanding to come out and play, if only for a little while.

Laetitia, for her part, found herself so overwhelmingly turned on by her mark that she didn't even notice as his hands snaked up under her skirts, finding the twin daggers strapped to her thighs. The blood rushing in her ears muffled his murmured  _Silly girl, daggers are for assassins_ as he unstrapped the sheaths and cast the knives to the floor.

Indeed, she almost completely forgot the reason she lured him to this room to begin with when he ran his hot tongue up her thigh, stopping at her core and sucking on her aching knot hard. As he worked his lips, fingers, and tongue against her wet heat, Laetitia rewarded him with even more moans, gasps, and squeals as she careened, out of control, towards orgasm.

He paused for a moment. "Say my name, lass," he grunted, brogue rough and thick.

At his first request, Laetitia couldn't remember his name. At the second, with an additional grazing of teeth on inner thigh, it came to her like a shot of lightning—and not just the name, but her whole reason for having him in such a compromising position to begin with. She reached down to her thigh for a dagger, but found they weren't there. Laetitia nearly panicked, but quick thinking saved her mission; she clenched her thighs hard around Sebastian's head and rocked hard from one side to the other, flipping Sebastian over before he had a chance to escape. Once she had Sebastian on his back, Laetitia worked her knees outward, pinning his upper arms. In just seconds, Sebastian went from reveling in the sweet taste of this mysterious woman to being completely helpless. His eyes darted around, looking for any way to get out of this hold when a vase from the nightstand crashed across the top of his skull.

Sebastian woke several moments later and tried to scream but found that Laetitia had gagged him with one of her stockings. The other, he soon found, was binding his hands above his hands, looped around one of the decorative posts making up part of the headboard.

"You're heavy," the assassin said breathlessly as she approached, fully nude. "This had better be worth it." Sebastian's eyes flew wide as she wriggled her way down his body, running both hands up his thighs until they reached  _him_. Laetitia smiled as she rubbed first one open palm, then the other, repeatedly over his hardening length.

"You didn't think I'd be able to dispatch you before having the full Sebastian experience, now did you?" Laetitia growled as she moved her hands up, yanking his shirt out of the waistband of his trousers and jerking it open, scattering popped buttons everywhere. She ran smooth, slender hands across his hard torso, biting her lower lip as she appreciated the view. "Girls  _talk_ , Vael, even ones in the Chantry. My sister Lily told me all about you before she left Val Royeaux. She said you have a big fat cock in those trousers, and I intend to have it before I slit that pretty neck of yours for shaming her so."

Laetitia slid her hands down his stomach and yanked the laces of his trousers free. Stuffing a hand down his pants, she moaned wickedly as her hands found him. "Seems Lily was not lying, Sebastian." She gave him a few slow, teasing strokes.

Sebastian's eyes rolled into the back of his head as he groaned loudly, despite the situation.  _Now I know what Caterina must have been feeling when I tied her up like this. Speaking of…_ Sebastian tested the knot above his head and found it was rather lazily tied. It wouldn't take much to get out of it all, once he felt like doing so.  _For now…I think I'm just going to sit back and see what she does._

Laetitia released Sebastian and grabbed the waistband of his trousers with both hands, pulling firmly. Sebastian helped by lifting his arse off the bed just enough for the pants to slide down off of his hips. She pulled his trousers down to his knees and smiled darkly as she took in the sight of him—a broad-shouldered, tanned, muscled mass of a man—and straddled his hips. She gazed into his eyes as she took his length in hand and guided it into her, sinking down onto him with a guttural grunt. Laetitia rode him hard and fast, desperate to claim release.

Though it felt incredible, Sebastian fought to keep his wits about him, having decided to make his move when he thought the assassin's ecstacy would cloud her senses the most. It didn't take long for Laetitia to start reaching her peak, and when Sebastian felt her start to clench more and more, he worked his thumbs into the knotted stocking and released his wrists with controlled movements, holding the now-loosened stocking in his hands above him to cover what he had done. Then, as she squeezed her eyes shut in anticipation of orgasm, he brought his hands forward and gripped her waist, holding her against him as he flipped her over onto her back, taking control. The assassin came hard as he did so, invoking the Maker and Andraste, never opening her eyes.

Moments later, when she recovered enough to realize she was on her back, Laetitia's eyes flew open with a start, only to find Sebastian's blade held firm against her neck as the archer's other hand held both wrists firmly above her head. Sebastian was caged over her, still moving inside her, a frighteningly intense look on his face. Each beat of her still-racing heart, each achingly slow thrust seemed to suck the blade's edge further into her delicate flesh until—without any additional force on Sebastian's part—a thin red line formed from the contact.

"You got yours, and I intend to get  _mine_  since I'm already here, if you don't mind," Sebastian growled as he started to move against her faster, blade still fixed firmly against her neck.

The adrenaline rush of having a blade at her throat while she was being thoroughly ravished was too much; it overrode any self-preservation instincts as she sighed, "Not at all...Maker, Sebastian...this is  _amazing_..." Laetitia soon found herself matching his movements, aching to climax again. He was careful not to jostle the blade too much as they moved in concert, finally pulling it away slightly as his orgasm built up to the point of breaking. It didn't take long for the two of them to climax together, and Sebastian finished with a few hard, jerking thrusts.

"Lily said you're the best she's ever had, and I'm inclined to agree," Laetitia panted as she wriggled underneath her mark. He was out of it from his efforts just enough that she was able to wrench a hand free, grabbing Sebastian's wrist and twisting it, causing him to drop the dagger.

In a flash, he had come back to reality, scrambled to the floor, and grabbed the dropped dagger just as Laetitia mirrored his move and snatched up one of hers. On their knees now, face-to-face and wielding blades, the pair panted—both from their exertions and the adrenaline of the inevitable fight to come.

Laetitia moved first. She leapt up and struck out at Sebastian, quick as a cat. He leaned back, almost evading the slashing blade, but the very point caught the side of his throat as he started a backwards somersault and the thin cut started to seep blood. Sebastian scrambled to his feet and struck back, slicing a curved gash into the forearm of the assassin. She recoiled, grasping her wound. Laetitia tried to flex the fingers of her wounded arm and couldn't; Sebastian had sliced through a nerve. Grimacing in pain, she switched to using her other hand and came at him overhand, intending to strike the junction of neck and shoulder, but Sebastian swatted her hand away this time, sending her dagger skittering across the stone floor. Her startled eyes met his hardened expression and she put her hands in the air, surrendering.

"That's it. Enough games from me. You win, Vael. Just let me go, and we can forget this ever happened," Laetitia whispered hoarsely. "I should have just killed you when I knocked you out.  _Dammit_."

"No," Sebastian said coldly as he swiped fingers across the cut on his neck, inspecting the tiny bit of blood he picked up there. "Vaels do not make deals." He moved to cut her throat and she ducked, evading the deadly strike. She was surprisingly strong…and limber. She kicked against his chest, knocking him off guard. Sebastian dropped the dagger as he fell backward onto his arse. Laetitia scooped it up and descended upon him, bringing the blade to his throat. This time, it was Sebastian's turn to seize her wrist and he wrestled it away from his throat, just far enough to the side to allow him to give the assassin a swift head-butt, knocking her out. As she slumped over, Sebastian was tempted to kill her, but opted not to.  _She let me live when I was unconscious, I can allow her the same_. _No need to take a life when I can avoid it._

 _If I can just get back to my quarters...she cannot follow me there._ He didn't know how long she would be out and he wanted to put as much distance between the assassin and himself as possible. He quickly pulled his pants back up, grabbed his dagger, and dashed out of the room, through the hallway, and burst through a door on the right, finding himself in the kitchen. Sebastian pardoned his intrusion as he wound his way between stacks of pots and pans and produce, eventually finding another door at the rear of the room. He flung it open, relieved to find it was a door to the outside. Sebastian scrambled out of the tavern and found himself on the river side of the building, mere yards from where he had moored the rowboat.

But it was no longer there. At least not in a sail-able capacity. All that remained was a burned-out hull, scarcely tethered to the mooring post by the half-burned rope.  _Shit,_ Sebastian thought as he slid on his arse down the grassy river bank and dropped into the icy-cold water. Thankfully, the river was slow-moving and he had to go downriver to return to the Cathedral. With the help of the current, Sebastian was only in the water a few minutes but even in that short time, he could barely feel his feet and lower legs as he attempted to flop onto the bank, completely soaked and shivering violently. He willed himself up the bank and by the time he reached the top, feeling had come back into his feet enough so that he could hustle to the laundry room door.

He knocked lightly on the door and the same laundry maid that had let them out a few hours earlier allowed Sebastian to come back in. "What happened?"  _Why is he shirtless?_

"No time. I must get out of these wet things. Do you happen to have any spare initiate robes? Mine were stolen."  _Stolen…burned…whatever._

" _Oui_ ," she uttered as he started to strip out of his wet things. She tossed him a clean robe and he pulled it on gladly.

"Thank you, lass," Sebastian muttered as he rubbed his arms briskly. He walked quickly to the door, trying to get the blood flowing and his body warm. He reached his room and was glad to find that the remnants of his fire still had sufficient embers to spark a couple of new logs when he carefully stacked them on. Snatching the blanket from his bed, Sebastian sat on the floor immediately before the growing blaze, sitting a bit closer than he normally would, but just too cold to care.

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

Upon coming to, Laetitia groaned as she realized her quarry had given her the slip. She decided that it would be best if she reported to Michel and Janine straightaway, so she dressed, strapped on her dagger sheaths once more, and quickly tied a stocking around her still-bleeding forearm. She exited the room and walked through the hall, certain that Sebastian wouldn't have been stupid enough to stay in the tavern. She left through the front door, walking as calmly as she could muster whilst injured until she reached the third alley on her left. Laetitia glanced both ways and disappeared down the darkened alley.

The assassin reached the end of the alley and pushed aside the crates on the right side, revealing a small hidden opening. Laetitia scrambled through the opening, emerging a few feet later in the secret meeting place of the Orlesian division of the Flint Company mercenaries. She rose to her feet and gasped. Laying dead on the ground were Michel and Janine, their throats slit. A man in black armor stood over them, with a gold Chantry sun blazoned on his chestplate.

"I've been waiting for you, Laetitia," Seeker Richard growled. "Your friends Michel and Janine were quite confident you'd be along before this much time passed. Based on how long it took you to get here, and those cuts and bruises, may I assume that you were unsuccessful in your efforts to assassinate Prince Sebastian?"

Laetitia could only nod numbly as she looked into Janine's lifeless hazel-green eyes and the coagulating pool of mixed blood underneath the bodies of her sometime-lover and her husband. She looked up at Seeker Richard, tears welling in her eyes. "Kill me now, before the Flint gets a hold of me. They don't tolerate failure," she whispered.

"Gladly. We don't take plots lightly, much like Starkhaven. Be glad Prince Aidan didn't get a hold of you; I am certain you would not die the quick death I will afford you," Richard hissed as he drew his blade across her throat in a fluid, gliding motion. Laetitia gurgled softly as her blood flowed and mixed oddly with that of her fellow Flint mercenaries. Seeker Richard wiped his blade and re-sheathed it. He crawled through the hidden opening once more, taking care to avoid as much blood as possible. Once back outside, Richard grabbed a rag from a nearby trash heap and wiped his black armor thoroughly, including his boots, stashing it at the bottom of that pile again before exiting the alley for good.

Seeker Richard hastened back to the Cathedral and stalked his way through the halls, finding his dormitory room nestled among the other male initiates and Brothers. He quickly washed up and changed into Chantry robes once more before making a beeline for Sebastian's room.

Richard tapped lightly on Sebastian's door and received a prompt welcome in reply. He entered, surprised to find his charge sitting on the floor in front of his fire, wrapped in a blanket. Then he noticed the unusually-unkempt hair and reasoned that Sebastian must have had to swim to safety; Richard had not missed the burned-out rowboat when he had crossed the river for himself.

"I'm glad you're alright," Richard whispered. "I'm sure, by now, you know what I am and what I do."

"Aye," Sebastian said bitterly, refusing to look away from the flames.

"I have to tell the Divine what happened, Sebastian. You will likely be sent away immediately—for your own safety, of course. I'm not sure how, but you have been discovered here even though you've been quite quiet for months now. Even I cannot guarantee your safety now."

"Based on the things the assassin said...I'm pretty sure it was the tryst with Lily that gave me away. Anyway, I know that I'm being sent to Denerim. You know, I've never been out of the Free Marches?"

"Denerim is a bustling city. It's not as hectic as Val Royeaux, but moreso than Starkhaven," Richard offered. "It'll be an adjustment, but I have faith in you, Sebastian. For all the antics, I do see a bright, self-aware young man before me. I should go. I must—"

"Tell the Divine. I know. Thanks for the confidence. Perhaps we'll see each other again someday."

"Yes, perhaps we will. Take care, Prince Vael." Richard turned and left the room. He made his way through the nave of the Cathedral, turning and taking the three flights of stairs up to the apartments of the Revered Mother and the Divine herself. He knocked frantically on the Revered Mother's door first and told her briefly what had transpired. They approached the Divine together and Richard again recounted what had happened, including the execution of all three mercenaries.

The Divine mulled over the news for only a few moments. "He must leave for Denerim immediately. Tonight, if at all possible. I regret that I haven't been able to apprise Grand Cleric Lynne of the situation, but I trust a brief letter will suffice and our inimitable Prince can fill in the rest. Richard, you and another Seeker  _must_  go with him, but I will need you back as soon as possible. I will assign a new Seeker to guard him in Denerim. As you might imagine, you are not very popular there."

Richard cringed as he recalled his last trip to the Ferelden capital city. "As you wish, Your Holiness. I'll help Sebastian get packed up. Shall he take his vows now, before we depart?"

"No. He's simply not ready, and a hastened set of vows might do him more harm than good. There are initiates, Richard, that must come to take the vows of their own accord. Sebastian is shaping up to be one of those young people. When  _he_  decides that it is time to take his vows, he can do so in Denerim," the Divine muttered. Richard nodded reverently and left, returning to his quarters.

Seeker Richard stuffed a few things into his backpack and stripped off his Chantry robes to change back into his armor.  _No use in keeping up the false pretense since he knows what's going on._  As he lifted the robe above his chest, Richard stared at the scar there, a sun that had been branded into his skin on the day he took his Seeker oath.  _The Divine is right. Hastened vows do no good._ He couldn't have known when that red-hot, sun-shaped iron sizzled against his flesh just days after being recruited to the Seekers of Truth that he would be called upon to use his blades so often against people of questionable guilt, for causes that were frequently less about protecting the Chantry and more about retribution against people the Divine  _personally_  found offensive.

He pulled on his linen underclothes, followed by black Seeker slung the pack over his shoulder and headed for the mens' dormitory. He again knocked on Sebastian's door and entered. The Prince didn't have much that wasn't already in his foot locker; it was as though he had been ready to leave at a moment's notice for quite some time.  _Likely plotting to escape again,_ Richard thought.  _Just like I used to do._ He helped Sebastian carry his things down to the Seekers' Quarters, which opened to the stables in the rear. They loaded up a black, unmarked carriage and set off for the port.


	16. Denerim (or, the Grand Cleric is a Big Fat Bitch)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian arrives in Denerim, much to the dismay of Grand Cleric Lynne. A breakthrough comes in the pursuit of Robbie MacSwain.

**_Denerim, one week later:_ **

"Sebastian," Seeker Richard said as he gently shook the sleeping young man's shoulder. Sebastian stirred, startled and blinked hard several times as he tried to ascertain his surroundings. "You seemed to be having a rather vivid dream," he continued, "care to talk about it?"

The smell of salt air seemed to wash away the last vestiges of the nightmare. "Uh…no. I can't really remember it. Just flashes, really," he fibbed.

"You said a name…Colleen. Is she a relative, or—"

"Yes," Sebastian replied quickly, desperate for Richard to drop the subject. He wouldn't look at the Seeker.

Richard leaned in close. "Bullshit," he growled in Sebastian's ear. The Prince stiffened. "Look. I know all about what happened right before you came here. Colleen…that was  _her_  name, wasn't it? Maybe if you talk about it—"

"Why would I talk to you about it," Sebastian said coldly. "You've done nothing but lie to me since my first day in Val Royeaux."

Richard sighed. "I know, it was wrong to deceive you, but it was necessary. Your father wanted to make sure nobody could get to you here, and that you wouldn't escape. I volunteered to watch over you because of my own unique background. You see, I was once much like you; sneaking out, getting into tavern fights, sweeping unsuspecting young things off their dainty little feet…I, too, was banished from my homeland," he said softly. Sebastian's icy blue eyes widened in surprise.

"I was also rather infamous for my antics in the Cathedral. But unlike you, my father  _demanded_  I become a Templar. Getting caught balls-deep in a Circle apprentice apparently upset him quite a bit. But I wasn't happy persecuting mages, Sebastian. It wasn't right; these people aren't criminals. They don't deserve the things the Chantry demands to be done to them simply for the way the Maker made them. And trust me, Sebastian…you'll never forget it if you bed a mage," Richard said with a wink. The shocked expression on the young man's face was priceless. "What? They can do some  _amazing_  things with their hands! Anyway, when the Seekers approached with an offer to do more than just arrest mages, I took advantage of it, and now here I am."

"So what you're saying is that there's hope for me yet?" Sebastian joked.

"I'm saying that you should be careful of the vows and oaths that you will be asked to take. Just make absolutely sure that you are truly ready for the sacrifices you'll make. Not everybody is cut out for Brotherhood, Sebastian, and the same goes for the Order and the Seekers."

"I'm afraid I don't follow," Sebastian said, confused.

"You made it out of Val Royeaux without taking your vows. Instead of coming to Denerim already invested, you will take your vows here when you're ready.  _You_  get to choose when to take your vows! You don't think that's an incredible opportunity to make sure that this life is right for you?"

"I don't have a choice, Richard. I was banished to the Chantry by my family."

"You didn't pay a damn bit of attention in your courses, did you? For youths that are under the age of majority, parental orders  _do_  take precedence. But you will turn eighteen soon. You will no longer be bound by what your parents tell the Divine to do with you. You will be offered your endowment and given your leave, if you wish. But I urge you…do not make a rash decision. If you're not sure what you would do with your life outside the Chantry, perhaps it would be better if you stayed put. As long as you don't take your vows…you can leave at will," Richard explained.

_Hmm. He makes a good point. I was all ready to join the Order just for a chance to not be locked into becoming a Brother. But what do I have against mages? The only ones I've ever met were in the Starkhaven Circle, and they didn't do me any harm._

Sebastian's thought process was interrupted by the clanging of a bell topside. A flurry of activity on the deck above meant only one thing: They were arriving at Denerim's harbor.

"Well, start getting your things together, Sebastian. I'll bring you to the Grand Cleric and give her this letter of introduction but she does  _not_  know about your background. I trust you will share as much as is appropriate."

"Richard?" Sebastian blurted.

The Seeker stopped in his tracks, looking back over his shoulder. "Yes, Prince Vael?"

"It was the sight of her body in the morgue. My nightmare. That's what it was about," Sebastian whispered, choking back tears.

Richard, still looking over his shoulder, gave Sebastian a thin smile. "I thank you for sharing that with me, Sebastian. I'll be back in a bit," he mumbled quietly as he pulled the state room door shut behind him.

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

"Grand Cleric Lynne, allow me to introduce Sebastian Vael, your new initiate. Here is a letter from the Divine outlining Sebastian's situation," Seeker Richard said boldly, handing a folded, sealed letter to the aged woman.

Grand Cleric Lynne eyed Richard, then Sebastian skeptically. " _Initiate_? The Denerim Chantry does not receive  _initiates_  into the dormitories here. Why hasn't he taken his vows yet? Give that here," she spat, snatching the outstretched letter from Richard's gloved hand. She tore it open and scanned the words. Sighing, Lynne crossed back behind her desk and slumped into the chair, tossing the letter on the desk. Even from a distance, Sebastian could see that it only had three, perhaps four lines of text.  _That's not much of an introduction, is it?_

"Well," Lynne said icily towards Sebastian, "it seems that she has left it to you to fill in the details of why you're here. Looks like I'll need a stiff drink, seeing how the Divine said it is a matter of life and death. Sebastian, is it?" He nodded. "Have a seat, young man. Would you like a drink as well?" She reached into a desk drawer, producing a green bottle of fine scotch and pouring herself a hefty amount into a glass already sitting on her desk. _Looks like she is rather fond of the drink—she's already had some, I see._

"Just tea if you have some on, please," Sebastian muttered as he took a seat opposite the Grand Cleric.

Lynne motioned for one of her maidens to get a cup of tea for Sebastian. "I trust you have more to add, Seeker?" Richard, thoroughly startled by the sharpness of the Grand Cleric's voice, meekly replied to the negative. "Well then, what in Andraste's name are you still here for?"

"Um…just wanted to make sure you and Sebastian got on. Sebastian, I'll be down in the main hall if you need me. I start my return to Val Royeaux in the morning." He bowed stiffly and spun around, practically running out of the Grand Cleric's office.

"Thank you, Richard," Sebastian shot over his shoulder. He turned back to the Grand Cleric, who had a grim look on her hard-lined face.

"Well, Sebastian, I'm waiting," she snarled. "I'm a very busy woman, so get to talking. Why would the Divine characterize you as a…" Grand Cleric Lynne trailed off as she picked up and consulted the letter again. "…a _'unique young man'_? Perhaps you'd better start at the beginning, eh?"

The Grand Cleric's servant placed a tea tray on the desk, complete with cookies, and poured out a steaming cup of tea for Sebastian. Lynne waved off a cup for her, pointing at the glass of scotch in her hand with a look of complete annoyance on her face.

Sebastian shifted in his seat nervously. "Aye, I guess it might be best to explain where I'm from—"

"I've already figured that much out.  _Starkhaven_. You people have a unique accent. Go on," Lynne interrupted.

' _You…people'? Och. Not sure how it's possible to hate Denerim more than I hated Val Royeaux in the first five minutes I'm here, but it is what it is I guess._ "Well, yes, I'm from Starkhaven. The royal family, to be more specific. I'm the third son of Prince Aidan Vael." Sebastian blew across the top of the teacup before taking a tiny sip, recoiling slightly at the discovery that the beverage was still way too hot.

Grand Cleric Lynne's eyebrows shot up in surprise before settling into a scowl. "Now it's two princes I'm harboring," she muttered under her breath. "Go on…what happened that makes your presence in the Chantry a life or death matter?"

Sebastian drew a deep breath and chewed on his lower lip, which was quivering slightly at the recollection of the past several months. "I—I, uh, was framed for murder. My girlfriend was murdered and the person who did it tried to make it look like I did it."

Lynne looked at Sebastian skeptically. "Why would your girlfriend be a target if you're a third son? You're kind of useless in terms of the succession. What was so special about this girl?"

 _Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence, you old hag._ "She was pregnant, and had agreed to marry a lesser noble to avoid being scandalized since my father wouldn't let me marry her. When I found out about her betrothal, I begged her to run away with me. She agreed, and we were to meet up and leave that night, but she never showed. I figured she changed her mind again, but in reality she had been murdered. I was jailed in solitary confinement for weeks, only to be sent to Val Royeaux as soon as I was released. As far as I know, my father and his Royal Guard are still looking for the real killer," Sebastian explained hurriedly, just wanting to get the pain of recounting the past few months over with before he started crying again but it was too late; tears had already welled up in his eyes as soon as he said that Colleen had been pregnant.

"And I presume the real killer is the other man—the one she was betrothed to," Lynne asked quietly.

"Either him or his father. He's disappeared. I'm rather surprised that I wasn't blamed for that as well," Sebastian explained, daring another tiny sip of tea and finding that it was not quite as scalding as before.

Grand Cleric Lynne leaned forward, intrigued. "Yes, that  _is_  surprising. So how does this become a life or death situation for you?"

"I'm not sure who, but apparently there are people that want me dead because they are convinced that I  _did_  kill Colleen."

"Oh…I see. Why, exactly, wouldn't your father let you marry a girl you got pregnant? It seems sort of a cut-and-dried type of decision to marry in those situations," the elderly lady said as she knocked back another swig from her glass.

"She was my Gran's handmaiden."

"So she was a nobody," Lynne surmised.

"Well, not to  _me_ …but yeah, she was an orphan my Gran found in the Chantry," Sebastian muttered.

The woman's eyebrows flew up in alarm. "An orphan in the Chantry…Sebastian, my boy…do you know how many of  _those_  orphans have noble blood flowing in their veins?" Lynne asked, and Sebastian shook his head. " _Most of them_. The Chantry is a virtual repository of the results of nobles' naughty deeds. Your Colleen was probably the illegitimate child of a local noble. If the father knew where she was, he probably was none too pleased to find that his little girl was dead, even if he did abandon her there. But that's just my educated guess as to why you're in danger. You'll find— _if_  you stick around here long enough—that we have our own fair share of noble orphans roaming these halls. One is even the bastard son of a  _King_. Tell me, Sebastian, how old are you?"

"Seventeen, Grand Cleric," Sebastian said quietly, taking another sip of tea.

Lynne rolled her eyes. "And how, pray tell, does a seventeen year old manage to get a servant girl pregnant? That's awfully young, and awfully  _irresponsible_ ," she said harshly.

"I was an awful person," Sebastian whispered. "In many respects, I still am. I'm hoping that my time in the Chantry will change that."  _Praying, actually. I just want to go home, and there's no way Father will let me until I change._ The tears that had been welling up in Sebastian's blue eyes finally spilled over, hitting his knees as he stared at the rug under his chair.

Grand Cleric Lynne softened a bit.  _Well, if the boy is repentant…I guess I can at least be a shoulder for him._ "Could you explain ' _awful'_  for me, Sebastian? I must admit, after hearing the reason why you're in such danger, the things you did leading up to it certainly cannot be good. As the leader of Denerim's Chantry, I have a right to know the background of each new member of the clergy here. If you'll prove to be too much of a risk to my Chantry, I may not be able to take you in. We have to do things a bit differently here in Ferelden, Sebastian. I hope you can respect that."

Sebastian nodded numbly as he began to recount his early years, the night at the tavern when he earned his kilt, the countless women and hangovers afterward, and his grandfather's death. All the while, Grand Cleric Lynne just shook her head disapprovingly, seeming to grow harder and more resistant against taking him as he spoke. Finally, Sebastian reached the part of his tale that had happened most recently, and he started to tremble. He took a deep breath in a desperate attempt to steel himself, but it did little good.

"After my Grandda died, Colleen and I started seeing each other. We did so for an entire year  _before_  we were intimate. In all that time, the urge to drink, to gamble, to fight, to womanize…simply disappeared. Her love was enough to sustain me. The day I found out she was pregnant was the happiest and saddest of my life. On the one hand, knowing I was going to be a father filled me with such joyous purpose. On the other, learning that she had accepted the proposal of another man because she knew she couldn't marry me…" he trailed off, burying his face in his hands.  _The baby would have been here by now._

Grand Cleric Lynne's brows furrowed in pity. "…It was devastating. As it would be for anybody. How did you  _handle_  that, Sebastian?"

Sebastian still sat with his face covered. "Not all that well, to be honest. I went out and got drunk for the next few nights after she didn't show up as planned. I figured she had left me once and for all, and in those days I truly felt like I had nothing to look forward to. It never occurred to me that someone might harm her…so before I had a chance to really sober up much, I was being dragged out of my bedchamber in chains. I only learned of her death as I was being accused of it."

"And how have you conducted yourself since being in the Chantry? Tell the truth now, Sebastian, or Seeker Richard will do it for you. I know by the way he hovers over you that he's been assigned to your security detail. You haven't so much as taken a breath in Val Royeaux without his knowing, trust me."

Sebastian cringed a bit and sat up again."Yes, Grand Cleric, I know Seeker Richard is my bodyguard. And he would not hesitate to tell you that I've been resistant to a life lived under Chantry rules. I spent much of those first months confined to quarters," he explained calmly.

Lynne peaked an eyebrow. "Why would you be confined to quarters  _so often_? What did you do?"

" _Who_  would be more appropriate," Sebastian mumbled.

The old woman's eyes flew wide and her jaw dropped. "You were… _fornicating_ …in the Grand Cathedral?"

"Yes, Grand Cleric." Sebastian drank the remaining tea in his cup.

"How many? How many since you arrived in Val Royeaux?" Grand Cleric Lynne demanded.

Sebastian thought for a moment.  _There was Anna…Marie…Lily…Mary…Brynn…and that bitch who tried to kill me…Laetitia?_ "At least six, by my count, Grand Cleric." He stared at the floor as he spoke—again appearing remorseful—yet internally he was feeling  _quite_  triumphant.

Grand Cleric Lynne scowled and wrinkled her nose in disgust. "And how long 'til you turn eighteen?"

"A little less than two months, Grand Cleric."

"Fine. You can stay here until you turn eighteen.  _If_  you haven't given me any problems by then, I'll keep you on as a lay brother. But mark my words, Sebastian...as long as I am Grand Cleric in Denerim, you  _will not_  take your vows here. Understood?"

"Yes, Grand Cleric. Thank you, Grand Cleric," Sebastian said as he fidgeted with his now-empty teacup.

"You may go. Find Brother Henry in the main hall. He will get you set up with new quarters and show you around. In the morning, I'd like for you to shadow him. He has served as the groundskeeper here for many years, but is getting up there in age. I need a strong, capable man to keep up our beautiful gardens. It is a duty that is quiet with plenty of time for reflection. I think that having a duty to perform and lots of time to reflect on your past actions would do you some good."

 _You mean it will keep me from corrupting the other Brothers and Sisters here._ "That sounds splendid, Grand Cleric. I  _do_  enjoy the outdoors. Thank you." Sebastian nodded reverently and left. He made his way down to the main hall and found Seeker Richard.

"Thank you for our conversation earlier, Seeker," Sebastian said quietly, aware of how others' voices carried in the massive room.

Seeker Richard looked into Sebastian's honest eyes as he put a gloved hand on the young man's shoulder. "Anytime, Sebastian.  _Anytime_. I won't be able to watch over you here in Denerim—I don't know who will be assigned—but if you ever need, just send me a message and I'll be here. Just don't forget what I said, okay?"

Sebastian nodded and left, seeking Brother Henry, and he certainly found him; the man once might have been quite statuesque, but time had dragged him into a semi-hunched state. A long, stringy beard framed a grin that was missing a few teeth. Clouded eyes, perhaps once blue, now struggled to focus. Henry's bald head bore the distinctive pink of a burgeoning sunburn.  _I think this Brother is even older than Grandda was when he died. A stiff breeze would knock him over!_ Sebastian was given a tour of the Denerim Chantry. It was much smaller than the Grand Cathedral, but bigger than the Starkhaven Chantry. The gardens, however, were much more lush and neatly manicured than either place.  _Hmm…the old man certainly seems to have a knack for gardening._ There was a generous open space near the rear wall that looked like it was meant for various lawn games.

Sebastian placed a hand on Brother Henry's arm to get his attention. "That open space…could I practice there? I'm an archer."

Brother Henry squinted at the open area. "Oh yes, yes," he mumbled. "That area is for all sorts of games like that. You can shoot there, as long as you pick up after yourself."

Sebastian smiled brightly. "Thank you, Brother Henry. You've done a beautiful job with the gardens. I am getting quite tired though. Where will I sleep?"

"Let me show you to your room, young man," the elderly Brother muttered, shuffling around and leading the Prince through a back door at the other end of the gardens. It led straight into the women's dormitories.  _Hmmm…good to know…_ They passed through a corridor behind the main hall, and into the men's dormitories on the other side of the Chantry. Henry led Sebastian nearly to the end.

"You may be wondering why there are so many men's rooms. We have a generous complement of Templars here, and the Grand Cleric feels that the Templars operate best when they are kept close to the Chantry. Helps them remember  _why_  they are vigilant, she says," Henry old man finally stopped and opened a door, showing Sebastian into his sparse quarters.  _A far cry from my rather posh room in Val Royeaux, but it'll have to do._

"The room right next to this is the bathing room. The laundry chute is there as well. Laundry is done twice a week and will be left on your bed. Additional bedding is down in the laundry room, which is right below the bathing room. Meals are taken in the dining hall, and supper will be in about fifteen minutes. The Grand Cleric, however, has asked that I bring your meal to take here in your room. I don't know what you've done, boy, but she doesn't care for you one bit. You'd best learn how to get on her good side, or else your time here in Denerim will be quite rough," Brother Henry said with a hint of a chuckle as he left the young Prince to adapt to his new surroundings.

Sebastian noted that his items had already been brought in, which was a relief. He would simply busy himself with putting things away this evening.  _Not like I'm gonna get any sleep._  As he arranged his few books alphabetically, a knock came on the door. Sebastian opened it, taking the tray of food that the elder Brother held in front of him. "Thank you, Brother Henry. I'll see you in the morning," Sebastian murmured as he closed the door again.

He ate slowly, noting that at least the food was tasty. It was a hearty rabbit stew, with a couple of thick slices of a semi-sweet ale bread for sopping up the remnants of liquid. The tankard of small ale wasn't bad, either. Full of food and exhausted both emotionally and physically, Sebastian soon found himself too sleepy to even make it through his evening prayers. He vowed to start fresh in the morning, after a good night's sleep.

He had just dozed off when the sound of a man shrieking tore him from sleep. There was a commotion in the halls, and Sebastian leapt from his bed, peeking out of the door. At the opposite end of the corridor, four surly Templars rushed into a room. As they burst in, a man started laughing loudly and a shouting match ensued. The room was a bit too far away for Sebastian to hear what they were saying clearly, but as the Templars exited with scowls on their faces, he could only assume that they had been subjected to a prank of some sort.

A man with blonde hair peeked out of the room, his back to Sebastian. "Awwww…you don't want to stay and share ghost stories with me? Perhaps some hot cocoa? Anyone? No?  _Pity_ ," he mocked.

"Shut up, you little shit, it's nearly midnight," one of the Templars shot back as they stomped off. The blonde man laughed as he re-entered his room and shut the door. Sebastian withdrew back into his own quarters, shaking his head as he chuckled.  _Well, looks like there'll be no shortage of entertainment here at least._

**_Starkhaven, one month later:_ **

Captain Ryon burst into Aidan's study, dragging a young boy by the arm. "Tell the Prince what you just told me, lad," he growled, shoving the boy forward.

"I—I have some information to share about that servant girl's death, Your Highness," the boy mumbled. "There's still a reward for it, right?"

Aidan's eyes flew wide. "Yes…yes, of course there is, lad. But only if what you tell me is  _true_. I can't pay you if the information doesn't pan out," he said calmly.

The boy looked Aidan right in the eyes. "I  _only_  speak the truth, Your Highness. My papa taught me that a man is only as good as his word, and I want to be a good man like him."

"Your father is very wise, lad," Aidan said warmly, smiling at the boy. The boy returned the smile and visibly relaxed.

"I sure hope this helps you…my papa said it would. You see, I was paid a whole sovereign to deliver a note to your boy Sebastian a few months back."

Aidan gasped slightly and his startled eyes looked first at Ryon, then at the boy. "Where was Sebastian when you found him?"

The boy shuffled his feet. "Right where Baron MacSwain said he would be…under the willow tree on the riverbank."

 _Matches what Sebastian said…the lad's telling the truth. Maker's Breath, this is the break we've all been praying for!_ "Baron Brennen MacSwain told you where to find him…was he the one who wrote the note too?"

"Yes, Your Highness. He told me to not tell anybody. I can't read so good…so I don't know what the note said. But when I heard you were looking for any information about the disappearance, I had a funny feeling that my note might be something you'd want to know about. My papa agreed and told me to come here," the boy blurted. "He was awful mad that I never told him about that note before today."

Aidan came out from behind his desk and crouched down, gently placing a hand on the boy's shoulder. "You were right to trust your gut, lad…what is your name, anyway?"

The boy cast a sideways glance at the Prince, afraid to actually make eye contact with the royal. "Scotty Wallace, Sire. My papa is one of your Royal Guard."

Aidan chuckled. "No wonder he was mad! This information is very valuable indeed, Scotty. I know the reward was for ten sovereign…but this is really,  _really_  useful, so I'm going to give you fifteen sovereign," Aidan said with a smile as he dug into his coin purse and counted out fifteen shiny gold coins. He placed them into a small rough linen pouch and handed it over to the boy ceremoniously. "Here you are, young man, for your exemplary service to Starkhaven. Thank you very much, Scotty. Please give my best to your father for me…and let him know that I'm not upset."

Scotty looked at the pile of coins before him for several long moments before snatching them up, stuffing them into his small belt pouch. "Thank you Sire, you're the best Prince Starkhaven's ever had!" He whirled around and dashed out of the Prince's study, in a rush to share the bounty with his family.

The door was scarcely shut when Aidan turned to Captain Ryon. "Get me Brennen MacSwain.  _NOW_ ," he hissed.

Ryon bowed deeply, smiling as he rose. "With pleasure, Your Highness." He'd been waiting for this command for the better part of a year; so much so that he had assigned Fordham to keep tabs on the Baron after he returned from taking Sebastian to Val Royeaux.  _Brennen MacSwain hasn't even taken a shit in the past year without my knowing about it._

Ryon made his way down to the Keep and approached his longtime comrade. "It's been a while, Fordham. Have you gotten any word from Seeker Richard about Sebastian's trip to Denerim?"

Fordham gave a crooked smile and nodded. "Aye. The lad made it without incident. Richard said that the Grand Cleric was none too pleased to hear of his background, though. Nearly put him right back on the boat to Val Royeaux. The Divine will have to assign a new guard for the lad, though. Richard has a bit of a…um… _background_  with the Denerim Chantry."

Ryon chuckled lightly. "So I've heard. Wasn't he sort of like his charge at one point?"

"Aye.  _Too_  much like Sebastian, if you ask me. His biggest problem was that he was really fond of  _Circle mages_. So his Father ordered him into the Templars, thinking that if he were forced to police the lasses he was so fond of, that he'd straighten out. Didn't work. Backfired pretty spectacularly, actually. As far as I know, though, since he's joined the Seekers he's been chaste. I'd love to know what happened to change him so…Sebastian sure could use a healthy dose of it, that's for sure."

Ryon stiffened suddenly. "I certainly hope  _not_! Everyone in his family is dead. My brother lives in Cumberland. Used to guard the Kendrick line…until they all died of the plague about 5 years back. My gold is on  _that_  as the cause for his attitude shift."

Fordham ran a hand through his hair. "Oh. Oh, no, we certainly  _don't_  want that. I wonder if there's another way to get through to the lad, though."

"I have a feeling he's going to have to hit rock bottom somehow…the girl was good for him, but in the Chantry there's virtually no hope of him finding that again," Ryon muttered, scratching his chin.

"Maybe if he were given the freedom to choose his path?"

Ryon shook his head adamantly, eyes wide with horror. " _NO_. That's the  _last_  thing he needs. His father's always taken a hands-off approach with his boys…Corbinian and Gavin turned out well enough, but Sebastian just has this…self-destructive streak. I've tailed the lad enough to know he needs structure. He needs purpose. He needs  _love_. Every time he's been given free reign…it's been an unmitigated disaster."

Fordham was quiet for several moments. "I imagine you didn't come down here just to chat about Sebastian, did you?"

Ryon shook his head. "No, I'm not. We have… _orders_ , Fordham," he said crisply, lowering his chin and raising an eyebrow.

Fordham smiled warmly, slapping a hand on Ryon's upper arm. "Maker's breath, we caught a lead?"

Ryon returned the gesture. "Aye. Bring him here, Fordham. Just Brennen.  _Quietly_."

"As you wish, Captain. MacSwain's out of town at the moment, but he should be back in a couple of days," Fordham said as he started to turn away.

Ryon squeezed his arm harder. "And if he's not?"

Fordham gave his Captain a cool glance as he shrugged. "He's in Tantervale. I can have a carrier bird there within a day with orders to my men there to apprehend him," he said confidently.

"Brilliant, Fordham. I knew you were the man for the job. Let me know when you have him, will you?" Ryon released Fordham's arm.

"Of course, Captain. It will be my  _distinct_  pleasure," Fordham said as he exited the room.


	17. Coming of Age

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our beloved Prince finally turns the big 1-8! (Also, consider this your totally, completely, not in any way safe for work warning. There is a bit of light bondage and mild Dom!Sebastian involved.)

**_Starkhaven, two days later:_ **

Captain Ryon strutted into his favorite holding cell—and all its dank, soul-sucking glory—smiling like a cat that swallowed the proverbial canary as he approached Brennen MacSwain. "Hello, Brennen," he said brightly.

MacSwain scowled at the Captain of the Royal Guard.  _What in Thedas has him so happy? He never smiles!_

Ryon lit a second wall torch, a rare thing except for when the Prince was due to visit the cell. "I suppose you're wondering why you're here, eh? Or perhaps you already know?"

Aidan Vael cleared his throat outside of Ryon's holding cell, and Ryon nodded for Wallace to admit him. He strode up, standing beside his longtime Captain, several pieces of paper in hand. He turned his head inward slightly. "How long have you had him, Ryon?"

"Oh, not long. I was just getting warmed up, actually," Ryon said as he walked around to the back of Baron MacSwain's chair, standing just close enough for Brennen to feel the Captain's presence.

"Splendid," Aidan said, a wicked grin on his face. He turned to Brennen. "What can you tell me about these notes?" He shoved the handful of papers forward. Brennen, who wasn't restrained, took the pages, his glance shifting back and forth between the two.

"I can't tell you anything, Your Highness," Brennen said coolly as he handed the papers back.

Aidan took the two notes, set them aside on the table along the wall, and fished a third note out of his belt pouch. "Hmm. That's funny, because to  _me_  it looks like you wrote both of them. You see, I have this note you wrote a few months ago—the one requesting additional funds due to the increased price of hay—and I must say…the similarity in handwriting is striking."

Brennen shifted in his seat and folded his arms across his chest. He pursed his lips and scowled. "Fine. I wrote those notes."

Aidan's eyebrows shot up. "Both of them?"

"Yeah," MacSwain replied with a wave of his hand.

Ryon leaned in, growling in the Baron's ear. "Now why in Thedas would you do that? Why would you forge two notes between teenage lovers?"

Brennen cleared his throat and tugged at the collar of his shirt. "Look. I'm not gonna bullshit you. I'm gonna cut right to the chase, because I know you've been gunning for me for months and I'm sick of being followed around everywhere. Anyway, my boy lost his mind when his girl said she was leaving him for Sebastian, and he strangled her. He panicked, so I helped him dump her body in the river and wrote the notes."

Aidan was taken aback by Brennen's bluntness. "Where is Robbie now, Brennen?"

"I don't know. I just told him to get the heck out of Starkhaven and never come back."

Aidan had to turn away in order to hide the frustration on his face as he ran his hands through his graying hair. He turned back to MacSwain, approaching and clamping his hands down on the armrests. "Just like that. You'd throw my boy under the bus to save the life of a cold-blooded murderer," he growled, and as his patience finally reached its end that growl turned into a yell. "Do you realize what he's done? What  _YOU'VE_  done? Are you aware that right now, I have nobles crawling up my fucking arse, desperate to not only get their hands on my boy, but my entire  _family_? You would bring down Starkhaven to protect him?"

Brennen matched the raised tone as his jaw set. "Wouldn't you, if it were your boy?"

Aidan stared Brennen squarely in the eyes. "No."

Brennen scrunched his face in disbelief. "Bullshit. You mean to tell me that if Sebastian had done it, you would have executed him?"

Aidan had gone over this scenario over and over in his mind. He had lost countless hours of sleep over this very question. And time and time again, he reached the same, pitiful conclusion. "Well, there is the whole matter of due process…but  _yes_. I would have done it. It would have nearly killed me to do it, but I would have," Aidan replied softly as he backed away. "You just don't get it, Brennen. I cannot allow myself to act like a normal father would. I have to think of Starkhaven first, then my family. If Sebastian had—never mind. Laws are laws for a reason, and the absolute last person that should skirt them is the ruler."

MacSwain swallowed hard. "Oh. I hadn't really thought of it like that. I'm sorry, Your Highness…for everything."  _Especially since it's far too late to call off Harimann now._

"So you'll tell me where Robbie is now?"

"I wish I could. I ordered him to go to my sister in Redcliffe, but she said he left almost as soon as he arrived. I haven't heard from him since I ordered him away…and that's the Maker's honest truth," MacSwain said quietly, staring at folded, trembling hands in his lap.

"You swear it?" Ryon asked coldly.

Brennen craned his head and met first Ryon's, then Aidan's eyes. "I do. I don't know where he is."

Aidan drew in a sharp breath, trying to disguise the sense of utter defeat that had crept over him. "Thank you for your honesty, Brennen. It means a great deal to me. You will be held here in the Keep, for your part in the crime. I know you didn't kill her yourself, but you helped cover it up. I could very easily execute you for trying to implicate my son…but your cooperation has been a much-needed break in this case. Speaking of…do you know anything about Renly Harimann's involvement in Starkhaven affairs at all?"

The Baron shook his head vigorously. "All I know is that he met with the late Lord Heatherton extensively. Maybe also Lord Ferguson. Beyond that, I don't know anything. I guess I always assumed they were old friends from when he still lived here."

"Fair enough," Aidan admitted. "Thank you again, Brennen. Should we find Robbie, we will reconsider your sentence at that time…but for now, you'll be held indefinitely."

"You can't—"

"I'm not executing you. Consider this a gift," Aidan said gruffly as he exited the cell.

Ryon followed behind him, locking the cell. He reached out for Aidan's arm, and the Prince spun around. "Your Highness…I know it's not my place…and I've never questioned an order from you…but are you sure you just want him imprisoned? I mean, he's as guilty of treason as they come. We executed Heatherton's boy for  _far_  less," he whispered.

Aidan nodded his head, his face grim as he and Ryon started walking in tandem. "Look, Ryon…I know. I  _know_  this seems strange, but I want to keep MacSwain around," he said in a hushed tone. "I just get the feeling that he knows more. Maybe if we hold him long enough, he'll crack at some point. Perhaps Robbie will learn we have him in custody and come back to confess. At this time it seems more prudent to just hold him here—in  _your_ cell—until we find Robbie."

Ryon scratched at his chin absentmindedly as he watched himself put one foot in front of the other, pausing at the corridor leading to the Keep's offices. "Well, when you put it like that, then…yeah. Yeah, it  _does_  make more sense to keep him alive. If you ever change your mind, though—"

"I'll be down here with my sword should it come to that, Ryon," Aidan said as he kept walking slowly, speaking over his shoulder to Ryon. "Anyway, step up your efforts to find Robbie. If he hears his father is in custody, he might just slip up…and when he does, I want us to be on him like flies on shit. Then this whole nightmare can be over. Harimann won't have a reason to come after us once the real killer is dead."

"I certainly hope he won't. I can't imagine why he'd keep pursuing the Vaels otherwise," Ryon muttered as he disappeared through the corridor.

**_Denerim, two weeks later:_ **

_It's unusually warm here today,_  Sebastian thought as he peeled off his sweaty linen shirt and tossed it onto the stone bench behind him. He picked up his bow and quiver again and turned back to the target, swiping a forearm across his brow to get rid of the sweat. Reaching over his shoulder, he grabbed an arrow and nocked it, bringing his bow up, the string tucking neatly against his cheek as he pulled it. The shot lined up easily and he loosed the string, watching the arrow fly home and land in the center of the target with a satisfying  _thunk_.

"Nice shot. You must have been training for years to be so smooth and accurate," a sultry female voice called from somewhere over his right shoulder. Sebastian cocked his head and lowered the bow as he turned towards the source of the sound.

"Yes…yes I have. Been training since I was a wee lad," Sebastian said as his brows furrowed at the petite brunette behind him. "Where did you come from? My back hasn't been turned for more than a few moments."

"I have a tendency to sneak up on people," the girl replied simply. "It was not my intention to startle you, I'm sorry. My name is Elissa. The Sisters told me I could find you here."

"And why would you be looking for me?"

Elissa pointed at the bow strapped to her back. "I'm aware of your talents with the bow. I was hoping, since I'm visiting for the day, that you might share some of your insights?"

Sebastian folded his arms across his chest defensively. "How did you hear of my talents? I serve with no military unit, I'm not a Templar or Seeker…as far as I knew, nobody here even knew I could do  _anything_  other than move around some dirt and plants."

"I didn't say anybody  _told_  me, now did I? You basically practice in the open. That fence isn't solid, you know," Elissa said, pointing to the latticework-paneled fence between the gardens and the main street leading into and out of Denerim. "People can see you from the  _street_. I've been watching you for hours."

That part  _was_  true; Elissa  _had_  been watching Sebastian practice for hours. What she left out was that she had been watching him for hours, every day, for the past  _week_. And every single day, when Sebastian reached the point of tearing off his sweaty shirt—exposing his rock-hard torso—her eyes fixed upon the low-slung waistband of his trousers and she had to fight the raging hormones that demanded she run into the gardens and fuck his brains out. Today, she had lost that battle…mostly. She had managed to keep enough of her wits to enter the Chantry and make a proper inquiry first, to provide a cover story should her father or her older brother come looking for her. But now? All bets were off.

Sebastian blushed.  _I wonder what else they've seen through the fence._ "Aye, you make a good point. I get so focused that I forget the fence is even there."

Elissa arched an eyebrow. "And  _that_ , Brother Sebastian, is what I'd like you to teach me," she purred as she came closer, clearly invading the archer's personal space.

"The ability to focus, or to make you forget everything around you," Sebastian retorted, teeth tugging at his lower lip as he also closed the distance between them.

"The latter." Elissa slowly traced her tongue around parted lips, eliciting a strangled groan from the tall man. Her eyes flitted to a drop of sweat at his collarbone, which slinked its way down his chest, over each rippled muscle on his taut stomach, and as it threatened to disappear beneath that miserable tease of a waistband at his hips, Elissa found she just couldn't take it anymore. In a flash, she was on her knees before him, catching that drop with the tip of her tongue as her fingers tugged at the waist of his trousers, intent on trailing her tongue to places she couldn't quite see yet but if she could only get those blasted pants  _down_...

Sebastian's knees buckled momentarily as the sudden maneuver sent his head spinning. He recovered and seized her shoulders, pulling her up roughly. "Get up, lass. Not here… _THERE_ ," he hissed as he nodded his head towards a storage shed a few yards away. She smiled wickedly at him as she bounced along ahead, waiting at the double doors for Sebastian to catch up, who was shaking his head as a sly smirk crept across his face. He looked down at her, his normally icy blue eyes darkened by lust as he slid the bolt latch open and yanked one of the doors open.

Inside, surrounded by gardening equipment, was a nest of blankets with a small box next to it. Perched atop the box was a thick, red, unlit candle in a brass holder. Sebastian gestured for Elissa to enter and followed her inside, pulling the door shut behind him. He grabbed a striking flint from the workbench and lit the candle, picking it up and opening the box. He pulled out a length of red fabric and closed it again, placing the candle back in its rightful place.  _I think this girl is eager enough; she'll let me do just about anything I want._

"Maker's breath, it's hot in here," Elissa groaned. Sebastian looked over his shoulder to find the girl already pulling off her simple, wide-necked dress. He rolled over onto the blanket pile to watch her as the blue fabric slithered down her body. As the neckline rolled over her nipples, Elissa moaned softly at the sensation and she hooked her thumbs in the fabric, lost in her movements as she started shimmying her hips to work the linen down, further and further, grabbing her smalls as well until her clothes pooled like a pond at her feet and she was completely nude. She looked at Sebastian, who was reclined on the blankets, fingers slowly pulling at the laces of his pants. Once loosened, he held his hands away, welcoming the brunette to help herself to him, if she dared.

Elissa took the few steps to him slowly, swaying her hips deliberately as she reached up and pulled the pin holding her loose bun. Chocolate waves slid over her shoulders, down her back, until they were nearly at her waist. Sebastian spread his knees as she lowered herself to him, planting soft, fluttery kisses on his stomach as her hands started to work his pants over his hips. Once his member was exposed, she took him in her mouth, working her tongue greedily over his length as he writhed beneath her.

Waves of pleasure built in Sebastian's core as the bobbing pile of brown hair in his lap hit every sensitive spot, hands working in tandem with soft lips and wet tongue to bring him nearly to the edge in just a few minutes. He gripped the blankets in one hand as the other twisted its way into Elissa's hair in a desperate attempt to control her movements and stave off his inevitable release for just a few blissful moments longer. He didn't count on the deep, throaty moan she gave as his hips started to buck underneath her, and it was his undoing; he grunted a guttural  _Maker yes!_ as he came, buried to the hilt in Elissa's slender throat.

Sebastian lay there, panting, as the girl slowly backed off of him, trying to look innocent as she wiped away the last vestiges of saliva and seed that her tongue had missed. For all the girls that had gone down on him, Elissa was the only one who had actually swallowed what he gave her and Sebastian found that the gesture was intensely gratifying.

"Holy Maker, Elissa…where did you learn that?"

"When you have to hold onto your maidenhead in order to secure the best possible marriage, you learn how to satisfy your man in other ways pretty damned quick," the girl offered as she sat back on her heels, appreciating Sebastian's post-orgasm flush.

"Your maidenhead…so you're a virgin, then," Sebastian mumbled.  _Damn. Maybe I won't get to do all I want to her._

"Well…I got sick of waiting for Prince Charming…so not anymore," Elissa purred as she pulled the hair off of her face and neck, sweeping it all over her shoulders. "And speaking of being tired of waiting…when are you going to make me forget where I am?  _Hmm_?" She put her hands on her hips, pouting.

 _I'll teach this wicked little lass to pout…_ Sebastian sat up quickly, wrapping his hands around Elissa's waist as he flipped over, pinning her to the blanket pile. Once on her back, Sebastian caged his body over Elissa's, leaning down and giving Elissa a slow, gentle, teasing kiss at the crook of her neck, working upward, swirling his tongue and giving tiny nips with his teeth until he reached her earlobe. Hot breath and deliberately thickened brogue swirled in Elissa's ear as Sebastian started to describe how he was going to run his tongue, his lips, and his fingers over every inch of her body until she begged for him. "…and when you beg me to fill that wet little cunny of yours, I'll  _think_  about it. If you deserve it, then you can have me…but you have to be a good little lass first, Elissa. Can you do what I ask?" He felt Elissa nod vigorously. "Good. May I bind those pretty little wrists of yours?"

"Please do," the brunette whispered, eliciting a mischievous smile from her partner. Sebastian reached over and grabbed one of the silk sashes. He wrapped one of Elissa's wrists, knotting it snugly but not tight enough to hurt, then the other, taking care to run the sash through a fixed metal loop on the wall behind her and leave sufficient slack should he wish to flip her over. Satisfied that she was going nowhere fast, Sebastian was as good as his lascivious words; his hands and mouth moved across her torso, licking, nibbling, sucking…and mingled with his various moans and groans buzzing against her skin, Elissa soon found that she was quite lacking in coherency. Sebastian took one full breast in his hand, lightly flicking his thumb over her hardened nipple as the other was claimed by a light graze of his teeth, followed by a soothing lap of his tongue. He was rewarded by a deep groan from the pretty girl underneath him.

"Do that again, Elissa," Sebastian commanded.

"Do what?"

"Make that  _delicious_  sound. In fact, make as much noise as you please but do  _not_  use my name. Last thing I need is to get caught out here. So go on…let me hear you," he growled.

Elissa complied, giving him all the groans, grunts, moans, sighs, and squeals she could muster as he resumed his exploration of her silken flesh. Before long, Sebastian was matching her, sound for sound, as he worked his way down to her wet heat. Sinking one, then two, and finally three fingers deep inside her, Sebastian started rolling his tongue across her aching pearl as he pushed in and out, slowly, twisting his fingers as he did so. Elissa's hips rocked in rhythm as the smooth muscles surrounding Sebastian's digits started to tighten. Sebastian firmly planted his free hand on Elissa's taut belly to get her attention, and when she looked down, she was met by intense blue eyes gazing at her from just above her dark curls.

"I know you're getting close…don't you dare come until I tell you to," Sebastian hissed against her mound, the tickle of his lips against her earning him a particularly sharp squeal and tensing of muscle. He stopped his ministrations to level a glare at her. " _Hey_. What did I just say?"

"You said I can't come until you say so… _sir_ ," Elissa mumbled. As she dared to call Sebastian sir—since he told her not to say his name—her sex pulsed around his idle fingers again.

As he felt her quicken around him again, a dark smile twisted Sebastian's reddened lips. "Oh? So that's how it's going to be?" He withdrew his fingers and crept upwards, sliding his torso against hers until he reached her ear and when his nipples rubbed against hers Elissa shuddered involuntarily. "Why, I do believe you like this, my dear! Tell me, what is it that you like the most…being told what to do, or blatantly disobeying those orders?"

Elissa moaned loudly. "Please…this is too much. I need you inside me," she pleaded.

"And why, pray tell, should I consider that?" Sebastian hissed in her ear.

"You should consider it because  _you_  want it just as bad," Elissa shot back.

 _Aye, I do. I cannot deny that._ "That's enough out of you. Not one more sound or I'll kick you out of here, you understand me?" Sebastian growled as he pushed away from Elissa and flipped her over, the silk binding having just enough slack to not force her arms to cross oddly, but not so much that she could gain much leverage. She felt Sebastian push her thighs far apart. His warm, calloused hands slipped around her hips and lifted them up slightly as he pushed into her fully with one firm, quick stroke. Elissa bit her lip hard enough to bleed to keep from screaming at the near-blinding euphoria of feeling him inside her at long last, full enough to hurt  _so good_. She had tortured herself as she lay in bed every night for the past week, imagining what this would feel like, and her imagination held no candle to the real thing.

"That's good, lass. I would have thought that might make you scream. Seems you're not a lost cause after all. Let's see if you can stay quiet and remember…don't you  _dare_  come until I tell you to." Sebastian watched Elissa's head nod as he gripped her hips tight enough to bruise, pushing in and out of her at a punishing pace, driving them both helplessly towards orgasm. He felt her start to clench tighter and tighter but he hadn't given her the go-ahead yet. Pulling out of her completely, Sebastian clucked his tongue and watched as Elissa squirmed at the loss of him—pounding a white-knuckled fist in frustration on the blankets—but she did not make a sound.

"That was much better," Sebastian purred as he pushed slowly into her, quickly working back up to the same dizzying tempo as before. He knew that like this, he wasn't going to last much longer and as the coil in his belly twisted nearly to the breaking point, Sebastian slid one hand down to her mound. "Come for me," he said with ragged breath as his fingers found and swirled around her.

As soon as he gave her permission, Elissa flew apart, bucking wildly as her sheath pulsed around him. The intensity of her pushed Sebastian over the edge and he followed, wave after wave of ecstasy crashing over him until his whole world went white at the edges. They stayed there, coupled, for several long moments as they struggled to catch their breath. Sebastian leaned down, planting a kiss at the base of Elissa's spine before he withdrew and sat back, running a trembling hand through his sweat-soaked hair.

"Happy Name Day to  _me_ ," Sebastian muttered as he started to untie the sash binding Elissa to the wall. He pulled back from her so she could get more comfortable.

"It's your Name Day? Blessed day to you! How old are you now?" Elissa asked as she turned over and propped herself up on her elbows.

"I'm eighteen," Sebastian responded as he got up slowly, fetching Elissa's clothes and handing them to her. "But we cannot delay; we've been in here a while…nearly a candlemark. Get dressed."  _I'm not gonna get confined to quarters—or worse—for you, you little tart._

Elissa looked at him quizzically but dressed quickly and smoothed her long hair back into a bun once more. She tried to give Sebastian a kiss on the lips, but he dodged and it landed on his cheek instead. With a huff, Elissa slung her bow across her back and stalked over to the door, shooting Sebastian a look that was a mixture of hurt and regret as she exited.

 _What more did she expect? She's the one that came on to me. I've had actual whores that were more subtle than her. _Sebastian chose to lag behind so as to avoid raising suspicions should they both be spotted in the gardens. He took his time dressing, looking down at the pair of hickeys on his stomach, riding just along the waist of his pants. Smiling to himself, he pinched the candle's wick to extinguish the flame and noticed that he had been mistaken.  _More_ —not less—than a candlemark had elapsed since they entered the shed.  _Shit. Supper's in what, ten minutes? They'll be looking for me soon._ He scrambled to return the silk sash to the lockbox. The archer then proceeded to look for his shirt for several long moments, finally remembering that he had removed it  _before_  entering the shed. He left the small building, sliding the bolt latch home and returning to his practice area. The shirt was still on the stone bench and now dry. Pulling it over his head, Sebastian grabbed his bow and quiver, and hastened towards the back door of the Chantry.

He walked quickly through the women's dormitory into the men's, and finally into his room. Once there, Sebastian stripped down again, washing up quickly. He pulled on his Chantry robe and was just about to head over to the dining hall when a knock came on his door. He opened the door and nearly fainted.

Standing on the other side was his mother and grandmother, with a travel trunk sitting on the floor between them.

Andra Vael burst into tears when she saw her boy—so much taller now—in his Chantry robes. The reality of his situation finally hit her.  _My boy will never take a wife; never give me any beautiful little grandbabies._ Meghan Vael was already crying when the door was opened, and taking in the sight of her grandson after so long—noting that he looked so much like her dearly departed husband—nearly caused her fall when her knees buckled.

" _Mama_?  _Gran_? What are you doing here?" Sebastian gasped after several moments of stunned silence. "Come in, come in!" He picked up the trunk by the handles on either end and set it down at the foot of his bed. Sebastian then turned back to the ladies, who had entered the room tentatively. He grinned, still so surprised to see his mother and grandmother.

"Sebastian, my boy, look at you!" Andra squealed as she wrapped her arms around her son's shoulders, pulling him down into a tight squeeze. "When did you get so bloody  _tall_? You're taller than Corbinian!" She peppered both scratchy cheeks with kisses as tears streamed down both their faces. Finally, she released him, giving Meghan her turn at smothering Sebastian with affection.

"Indeed, Sebastian, dare I say you're as broad as your Grandda! You must be working that bow of his for hours a day," Meghan exclaimed.

Sebastian pulled back and gave her a confused look.  _She…doesn't know? That Father took Grandda's bow from me years ago? Hmm…I'm certain I told her._ He glanced quickly at his mother, who bore a concerned look. She twitched her head to the side as her eyes flew wide, indicating that he should just go with it. "Yes, Gran. Hours and hours a day. Aside from groundskeeping, it's about all I do here."

"You mean you aren't a Templar yet? I thought that's why you came here to Val Royeaux," the elderly woman grumbled.

"No, Gran, We're in Denerim. And Sebastian's not a Templar, he's a Brother. He just took his vows. We're here to give him the gift for his Name Day, remember?" Andra asked as she took Meghan by the hand and led her to the lone chair in Sebastian's quarters. Sebastian looked at his Gran, who was positively baffled until she looked upon her grandson's face and broke into a wide, warm smile.

"Yes, that's right. It  _is_  his Name Day," Meghan said confidently. "Go on, lad, open your gift."

"Yes, Sebastian. Go ahead, open it," Andra chimed in.

Sebastian tilted his head out of curiosity as he turned back for his bed. He flipped the latches holding down the lid and lifted it. There was a note on top. "I suppose I should read this first, huh," Sebastian muttered as he slipped a finger under the wax seal bearing the Starkhaven crest.

_Sebastian:_

_Congratulations on reaching your eighteenth Name Day at long last, and on your continued favorable progress while in the Chantry. I know it is not where you want to be. Please believe me when I say it's not where I want you to be either. This is a temporary situation, I swear it._

_To prove my intent, you will find your Name Day gift within. It is armor that I have had specially made for you, to wear when you come back to command the Royal Archers. Your Grandda's bow is here, waiting for you as well. Your time is coming soon, son. You will be back in Starkhaven before you know it. I'm very proud of you and look forward to more favorable reports._

_Love, Father_

_He's…proud…of me? He wants me to come home and command the Archers? I'm gonna get Grandda's bow back? I think I can do whatever he asks, because he is…he is…wow. I can't believe he knows what it is I really want…and he's willing to give it to me, if I just keep myself out of trouble._ Sebastian blinked back tears and shot a look over his shoulder at his mother, who had a sheepish grin on her face. Shaking his head slowly, he peeled back the folded-over layers of dark blue velvet to reveal a chestpiece of white dragonbone, rimmed in gold, with a golden  _lion rampant_ in the center, flanked on either side by greaves of the same material. There were also a couple of armor pieces for his left arm, and a leather belt with a dragonbone buckle.  _Is that…Andraste's face…oh. Oh my._

"Maker's breath, it's exquisite," Sebastian murmured as he pulled the chestpiece free, followed by the fabric it had been wrapped in. Below this top layer were the leather and linen underpieces, and finally the scale mail vest. He laid out each piece carefully on his bed, stunned at the beauty of the armor.  _Functional and good-looking. How ever did Father come up with this?_

"Well, aren't you going to try it on?" Meghan asked.

"Uh, yes. Yes. Just…uh…" he trailed off, looking around for somewhere he could duck behind in order to dress.  _Really don't need them to see those marks on my stomach, now do I?_

"We'll step out for a moment, Sebastian," Andra offered as though she read his thoughts, leading Meghan out of his room so he could change.

As Sebastian put on his new armor for the first time, he found himself quite satisfied with the fit.  _Gavin definitely had a hand in this; he's the only one who has ever proven capable at judging my sizes. He's also just enough of an asshole to tell the smith to make the belt buckle look like Andraste._ The linen pants were nice and loose, and the leather top was soft and thin enough to let him move his right arm freely. He shrugged on the scale mail vest, marveling at how slinky it was, followed by the greaves, chestpiece, and left-arm protection. Finally, he wrapped the multi-pocketed belt around his waist, clicking the buckle home. Sebastian walked over to his looking glass, fussing with his hair as he did so.

"Oh…my…"

He didn't recognize himself, and he didn't hear the door open again, only the approving gasps of his mother and grandmother as they took in the sight of him in the armor of a Commander. The armor looked so much better on Sebastian than it did on the armor stand that Weston had displayed his handiwork on a few weeks ago.

"You look very regal, Sebastian," Meghan said as she gave his cheek an affectionate pinch. "Don't forget to shave, though. Your cheeks are a bit rough, aren't they?"

"Aye, Gran. Don't worry, I don't care for how facial hair looks on me," Sebastian said as he looked down at the grey-haired woman and smiled warmly.

Andra smoothed a hand over the scales surrounding Sebastian's waist and slipped her arm around him, pulling him in close for a hug as they looked at each other in the mirror. "Very regal, very grown-up, very authoritative, and very devout."

Sebastian leaned in to his mother's hair. "Thank you, Mama…but I haven't actually taken my vows yet. I'll be taking them soon," he whispered.

"Do you have to," Andra mumbled softly as she looked at the floor. "You're eighteen now…you could take your endowment and leave…go do what you wish. I know you're not happy here, Sebastian. I just want  _so badly_ for you to be happy…"

"Mama, no. I promised Father that I would stay in the Chantry until things surrounding Colleen's death are cleared up. And based on his note and this armor, he intends to make me Commander of the Royal Archers because of my turnaround since I've been in the Chantry. That's all I've ever wanted, and it's within my reach. All I have to do is stay here as long as he tells me to and keep behaving. Besides, Denerim isn't all that bad. I am finding that I really enjoy gardening."  _Plus, I've got a pretty nice little setup here, with that shed and plenty of lovely lasses throwing themselves at me, and not one of them has been an assassin…yet._

"Okay," Andra conceded. "I just hoped that perhaps someday you would meet a lovely lass and give me some pretty grandbabies, that's all." She looked up at her son, smiled, and winked.

Sebastian let out a hearty laugh. "I do believe you're addicted to that wee one of Corbinian's! He's not working at making more of them fast enough for you?"

"Maker, no, and Gavin's not yet married to Bria. I'm not sure he's going to—"

"Oh, he'll get her with child, Mama. Don't worry about that." He planted a kiss on the top of his mother's hair. "Don't worry about me, either. Everything has its way of working out."

"I hope you're right, son. Now…what say we go out to the tavern and get a bite to eat? I hear they have quite good food there."

Sebastian shrugged. "Wouldn't know. I haven't left the Chantry for anything more than simple errands since I've arrived."  _Maker's breath, when did it become so easy to lie to my Mama?_

"Sure you haven't," Meghan chimed in, and both Sebastian and Andra looked at the elderly lady in shock. "Oh come on, Sebastian, you didn't expect us to believe you had  _completely_  changed, did you? You're a  _Vael_. You  _drink_. Kind of in the blood, it is."

Sebastian slumped a bit as he let out a sigh. "The tavern cook makes a mean shepherd's pie. Come on, if we don't get there before six there won't be any tables left."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forget Justin Bieber, Seb needs a Rolling Stone cover proclaiming "Hot – Ready – Legal". LOL


	18. A Dance Partner for Gran

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andra and Meghan Vael visit Sebastian for his 19th Name Day. An assassination attempt leads to a grisly scene. Warning: murder-suicide of a family. Not graphically described, but I've been advised that it could be triggering because it involves children.

**_Denerim, one year later:_ **

The barmaid sauntered over to the table, a tray bearing three bowls of shepherd's pie balanced precariously on one hand, while the other swatted away the various grabs, pinches, and swats to her backside as she made her way through the crowd. She set down a steaming bowl in front of each patron at the rearmost table in the tavern. "Do any of ye need more ale? Wine?"

"I'm running a bit low on wine, actually, if you don't mind, miss," Andra said as she greedily sniffed at the bowl's contents. "Smells wonderful tonight. My compliments to the cook."

"I'm good, thanks," Sebastian muttered as he dug in. Meghan shook her head at the barmaid and she left the three to their meal.

"I've been craving this since we were here last," Meghan said as she blew on a spoonful of mashed potatoes, giving a satisfied  _mmm_ when she finally ate it.

"Me too," Andra chimed in, stirring her bowl from bottom to top, to mix the potatoes with the meat and vegetables underneath, giving it a chance to cool.

"I'm starting to think you two came here just to eat and not see me," Sebastian pouted as he took a small sip of ale to cool his tongue. That first bite had been a bit too hot but he was so hungry that he just couldn't wait any longer.

"You look like you got a bit too much sun, Gavin," Meghan chided as she looked at Sebastian's sunburned nose. "I thought you had an office job…why were you outside so long?"

Sebastian shook his head lightly at his Gran's confusion.  _Seems a wee bit worse than last year._

"That's Sebastian, Gran," Andra said gently as she gestured towards her youngest boy. "He was at an archery tournament yesterday, remember? We watched him take second place? That's how he got so much sun. And today we're eating here because he's turned nineteen and we're celebrating."

Meghan looked at Sebastian, then Andra, then Sebastian again and nodded. Sebastian wasn't sure if she  _really_  understood his mother's words or if she was nodding simply to pretend like she didn't just forget where she was and who she was with. He furrowed his brows as he watched her fumble with the locket around her neck.  _I wonder if my picture is still inside. Would she even recognize that it's my picture now? She's barely gotten my name right since they arrived. Yesterday, she thought I was her bloody husband! I suppose later I'll be Corbinian. Ah well, it's good to see her, at any rate. I shouldn't complain._

"I need to use the privy," Meghan announced as she rose, wandering over to the barmaid and getting directions to it.

Sebastian scooted closer to Andra, leaning into her, speaking in a hushed tone. "Mama…what's the deal with Gran? Is she always like this?"

Andra shook her head. "Not always. She has good and bad days…just moments ago she knew she had been here before, but then she got you confused with Gavin. And yesterday was just embarrassing...but I think that's because you look so much like Colum when he was younger. At home, she speaks of you often but seems to have trouble acknowledging that you're grown."

Sebastian took a bite of his supper, chewing it slowly as he thought. "Has the Court Physician examined her at all?"

"Aye…he says there's nothing we can do. Apparently for some people it's part of the normal aging process. She's not  _that_  old, though. She's only sixty-five." The barmaid arrived, pitcher of wine in hand, to refill Andra's cup. Andra nodded and thanked the maid before taking a long drink.

Sebastian frowned. "So it'll get worse?"

"Yes. The day will come where she doesn't recognize a single one of us. May the Maker see fit to take her before that happens; I cannot imagine what she's going through. I mean, she has to know that her mind is slipping. _I'd_  be terrified," Andra replied with a slight quiver in her voice.  _'Tis not often a woman gets such a wonderful mother-in-law…it makes me so sad to watch her mind go like this…especially when she gets Sebastian confused for others. He's trying so hard to hide it, but I know it's breaking his heart._

"As would I. Say, does she get anyone else confused, or is it just  _me_  she can't remember?" Sebastian rolled his eyes.

Andra chuckled lightly. "Don't worry Sebastian, it's not just  _you_. She tends to get all you boys mixed up…called your father Alec the other day. Usually she thinks that Corbinian's boy is you. Poor Mara gets herself worked up into a tizzy every time your Gran calls him Sebastian. Like I said, she has trouble acknowledging the fact that you're all grown up now."

Sebastian stirred his supper.  _She thinks I'm still a toddler?_ "Oh…well that's…um…I don't feel so bad about it now. I thought that maybe it was because…never mind." He paused to take a few bites of his food, washing it down with ale. "Any further news about Robbie? I mean, it's been a year since Father threw the Baron in jail. I was hoping to have come home by  _now_ ," he said bitterly.

Andra smoothed a hand over Sebastian's back. "None that your father has shared, no. I'm sorry, sweetheart."

Sebastian bit at his lower lip as tears prickled his eyes. "I should have known Father wouldn't keep his word. I've done all he asked…with the Baron in custody and his confession secured, I would think the threat to my person is gone. What could possibly be keeping Father from bringing me home…unless it was all just a lie to get me to behave," he hissed as he tried to stifle his growing anger over the situation.

Andra cast a sidelong glance at her son, whose blazing eyes and flared nostrils betrayed the rest of his falsely-calm appearance. "Settle down, Sebastian. I don't know what's going on. Your father is keeping  _all_  of us in the dark about this. He's on edge all the time these days. Something  _is_  up…I just know it—shhh, she's back," Andra whispered and fidgeted with the napkin in her lap as Meghan approached once more, sitting in front of her bowl of shephard's pie with a look of total disgust on her face.

"What's  _this_  slop?" Meghan asked, pushing away the bowl. Andra and Sebastian looked at each other.

"Gran…it's shepherd's pie. One of your favorite dishes. Go on,  _try_  it," Sebastian said quietly as he scooped up another spoonful of his own dish, eating it with exaggerated motions and expressions to demonstrate to her how delicious it was.

Meghan took a tiny bite and smiled briefly before digging in heartily, and the three finished their meal in relative silence. Afterward, as they drank leisurely and watched the people around them, there was a commotion up by the bar itself. All three craned their necks, trying to see what was going on, when suddenly Meghan shot up off of her chair and approached the gathering.

"Gran! What are you—" Sebastian yelled as the group parted to admit the elderly lady, who was by now clearly saying something to someone in the center of the crowd. The man at the center of the crowd was vaguely familiar looking; blonde cropped hair, light brown eyes, Templar recruit splintmail. He'd seen him around the Chantry during services, but never talked to him.  _Wait a minute…that hairstyle…I think that's the guy who keeps pranking the Templars at night. Oh, this should be gooooood._ He had started to follow Meghan but stopped, choosing to watch instead.

"Alec… _Alec_! Why are you making such a racket up here? I raised you better than that," Meghan scolded as she inserted herself between the young man and his drinking companion.

The young man stared at the petite spitfire, a look of utter confusion scrunching his face. "I…beg your  _pardon_? Do I  _know_  you? I think you have me confused for someone else. My name is Ali _STAIR_ , not Alec," he said, picking up his mug of ale and turning back to the other man at the center of the commotion. "Look, Bryan—"

"No, Alec, my boy…you're drunk. Come on, let's get you home." Meghan tugged at the young man's arm. His cheeks burned as an expression of  _Help me!_ was directed at his friend, who only shrugged and chuckled. As Meghan spun Alistair around to lead him out of the tavern, he met Sebastian's eyes. Between Alistair's flustered stumbling and Meghan's fierce show of maternal authority, Sebastian couldn't help but burst out laughing, with Andra following suit.

"Gran… _GRAN_ ," Sebastian said as he rushed up and grabbed Meghan's shoulders lightly. She looked up at her grandson, confused. "Gran. This  _isn't_  Alec. Look at him…does this man have green eyes? No, he has brown ones. This man has a sword. Does Alec use a sword? No."

Meghan whipped around and looked at Alistair, narrowing her eyes as she sized him up. "Hmm. No. I suppose you're  _not_  Alec. I don't know who you are, but you'd better get out of my bedchamber, young man, before I call for my guards."

Alistair shrugged out of Meghan's grip, gobsmacked, and blurted, "Out of your— _WHAT_? Madam, honestly, I don't—"

"I'm sorry…um… _whoever_  you are. My Gran's getting a bit up there in years, and sometimes she gets confused. She  _thinks_  you're my uncle. I'll just be taking her, now," Sebastian said, pulling Meghan close to him. Alistair turned and started to walk back to the bar, shaking his head.

"Let go, Gavin," Meghan grunted as she broke free of Sebastian's grip and rushed to Alistair. "Of course this isn't Alec…silly me. It's  _Goran_ …don't you see? Don't you see how silly he's being? I'm so  _sorry_  I didn't recognize you, Goran," she said, patting Alistair's head. "Come now, dance with your old Gran like we used to do when you were a lad."

"Um… _help_? I could use a bit of assistance here," Alistair hissed at Sebastian while Meghan pulled him close, wrapping one arm around his armored waist as she took his hand with the other.

Sebastian shook his head as he tried to fight the smirk on his face. "You'd best dance with your Gran,  _Goran_. You don't want her to tell on you, do you? Your father's got quite the temper."

"Look…Gavin, I've seen you around at the Chantry. I  _will_  find you," Alistair growled, trailing off as he looked down into Meghan Vael's twinkling green eyes, "…and I  _will_  get you back for this." He gave Meghan a polite smile, which she returned.

"My name's  _not_  Gavin…like I said…she gets confused," Sebastian said as he walked back to Andra—who had long since dissolved into a giggle fit—leaving Alistair slack-jawed as he led Meghan into an awkward waltz. After the brief dance had ended—the music for which provided by Meghan's humming of a cheery tune—a red-faced Alistair stomped out of the tavern to a chorus of cheers and laughter.

Meghan approached her grandson and daughter-in-law, limping slightly. "My, my…Goran isn't keeping up with his dancing lessons, is he? I think he broke one of my toes!"

Sebastian could hardly see straight for all the laughter he loosed at that statement.  _I have no doubt that that man will eventually find me…but whatever he cooks up in retaliation will be so worth it._

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

**_Meanwhile, in Starkhaven:_ **

"Nice day…not too hot, a gentle breeze…dare I say that the Maker has seen fit to bestow another perfect day upon Starkhaven," Corbinian said stiffly to his father as they sat upon their horses. The horses walked slowly along the well-worn path, last fall's leaves crunching beneath their hooves.

Corbinian looked around, marveling at the variety in foliage. Just in his immediate vicinity, he could identify birch, oak, maple, cottonwood, and aspen trees. The dense forest was breathtaking; sunlight filtered through the canopy of leaves above him, fingers of light streaking down like the Maker's glory. Corbinian wondered if the moonlight did the same and shuddered at how terrifying a sight that might be.

"Indeed, it is, Cor. So, how's Mara? How long has she been in confinement now? Seems like forever," Aidan replied as he plucked a leaf out of his horse's mane.

Corbinian watched his father, glad to see him so relaxed. "Nearly a month. The midwife says she should go into labor any day now."

"Any predictions on what you'll have this time? Another boy, or will we get a pretty little lass to dote upon?" Aidan smiled.  _I sure would love a little lass…I'll buy her a stable full of ponies._

"I'm not sure…we want to be surprised," Corbinian replied, smiling. "Though…the midwife did slip up and say that Mara is carrying high."

"So…a girl, then," Aidan replied after thinking about what it signified.

Corbinian shrugged. "I guess? I don't think it's an exact science, Father. Either way, as long as the baby is healthy, I'll be happy."

"As will I," Aidan said, grinning. "Come on, let's give these old nags a workout, shall we? Hyaaah!" He spurred his horse into a gallop.

Just as Corbinian spurred his own horse, something whizzed by his head, landing firmly in the birch tree to his right. He looked over…and saw a dagger fixed in the bark.

" _ASSASSIN! WEST!_ " Corbinian screamed as he turned his horse to give chase.

Corbinian spotted the figure quickly; a man dressed in drab brown leathers to blend in with the myriad of tree trunks. He scrambled along the forest floor, weaving in between the trees as he desperately tried to put distance between himself and his missed target. In this dense section of forest, Corbinian found his horse was almost too cumbersome to ride and he thought for a brief moment he might have to give chase on foot or risk losing the assassin completely. Fortunately, the assassin made the mistake of turning right instead of left at a small, impassable gully and flushed himself out into a more open area, which allowed Corbinian to make up lost ground quickly.

Trees whizzed by and Corbinian let his mind go, trusting his instincts to know when to duck or dodge errant branches as he gained on the assassin. He held the reins with one hand and flicked open the holding strap on his dagger's scabbard before slipping one leg over his horse's back in anticipation. Corbinian slid from his mount as he pulled alongside the assassin, tackling him to the ground. The horse stopped at the loss of its rider, as it had been trained to do, waiting patiently as Corbinian clubbed the man with a solid fist across the back of the head. He then flipped him over and punched him in the nose, breaking it and causing bright red blood to flow freely down over his mouth and neck. Aidan approached as Corbinian pulled the assassin to his feet, slamming him repeatedly into a large oak tree.

"Who sent you? Huh? Tell me," Corbinian snarled as he held up a clenched fist in a threatening manner.

"F-F-Ferguson. Colin Ferguson," the assassin spluttered, the blood in his mouth spattering as he spoke. "Please…I've never done anything even remotely like this…I was desperate for the coin he offered…"

Corbinian lowered his hand to the grip of his dagger, intent on killing the assassin when Aidan grabbed his shoulder. " _No_ , son. Not yet." He turned to the assassin, glaring at him. "Tell me…do you know the name Harimann at all? Was he involved?"

"N-No, Your Highness. Ferguson came to me…wanted your boy Gavin there dead. Something about a fight with his boy or something. I've never even heard the name Harimann."

Corbinian chuckled nervously. "I'm  _Corbinian_. You had the wrong Vael from the start. You really  _are_  new at this, aren't you?"

The assassin's eyes grew wide as panic seized him fully. "Y-Yes…please…Your Highnesses…I have twelve children to feed…"

"Wrong. Your  _wife_  has twelve children to feed," Aidan said as he stepped and wrenched the assassin's neck, snapping it. Corbinian released his fist from the man's leathers and his body fell to the ground, slumping awkwardly against the tree. Corbinian looked at his father, shocked.

"Congratulations, son…now you've had your first assassination attempt," Aidan grumbled as he stalked back to his horse. "Get used to it; once you're the Prince, it'll be a fairly common occurrence. Come on, we have to go talk to Captain Ryon." He slipped one foot in a stirrup, pulling himself up and into the saddle as Corbinian stared at the dead assassin. He shook his head hard, snapping himself out of his daze, and mirrored his father's actions.

As they rode back to the path, Corbinian paused at the birch tree.  _Maker's breath, that's right at neck level. Had I hesitated for even a fraction of a second…I'd be lying dead right here._

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

**_A few hours later:_ **

Captain Ryon started the walk up the long path leading to the Ferguson estate with a corps of his soldiers flanking him on both sides. "Now, men…Lord Ferguson has a small private army and is quite skilled with a blade in his own right, so you'd do well to keep on your toes. I don't expect him to go quietly; word of the failed attempt earlier today spread quite rapidly and he surely knows we're coming."

"Aye, Captain," Wallace muttered as he walked alongside Ryon. "So you expect him to lash out at us, then?"

"I do," Ryon said firmly. "He used to serve in the Kirkwall City Guard."

"No slouch then."

"Certainly not," Ryon shot back and he turned his gaze towards the estate once more, just in time to witness a large explosion rock the house. Ryon and his men dropped to the ground reflexively, covering their heads to protect themselves. Flames shot out of the chimney and the sparks lit upon the dried-out thatched roof, lighting it on fire instantly. As the flames shot into the sky, Ferguson's private militia spilled out from the outbuildings, rushing towards Ryon's much smaller force with raised swords. The Royal Guardsmen scrambled to their feet, taking up their weapons as they braced for the clash.

"Wallace! You're in charge…I have to try and take Ferguson alive!" Ryon yelled over his shoulder as he dashed towards the inferno, whirling and twirling as he cut down the few men that were foolish enough to try standing in his way.

In a window, he saw Lord Ferguson finish wrapping a thick rope around his family members as they stood in a circle around a support post. The room was already aflame; there was no way Ryon could have gone in without getting seriously hurt or even killed—he could only stand and watch, hoping somehow that Ferguson himself would come out of the blazing residence after finishing whatever it was he was doing.

Ferguson tied off the length of rope and looked over his shoulder, eyeing Ryon. He smiled and lunged for something just out of sight. Ryon gasped in horror as he realized that Ferguson had two large bottles of alcohol—most likely his family's famed whisky—in his hands. He poured the bottles over his family and himself. He took a striking flint in hand, walking around his family as he struck it, showing sparks on not only their alcohol-soaked clothes, but also a layer of straw that he had packed around the support column. As the sparks morphed into tiny licks of flame, Ferguson approached his wife, leaning in and placing a kiss on her forehead. The proximity of their bodies allowed the flames that were swallowing up her skirt to consume his clothes as well as they clung desperately to each other. In moments, the flames danced among all four Fergusons and they writhed under the heavy bindings until, one by one, they all went limp. The smell of burning flesh flowed from the estate as the roof collapsed.

Ryon turned and ran back to his men, helping Wallace take out the last of Ferguson's men. As the final man fell, Ryon and Wallace looked at the house as the second floor fell into the first, a whoosh of sparks and cinders being thrown up from the force of it. They shook their heads at the needless loss of life.

"Is everyone alright," Ryon asked wearily. Two men had been cut badly enough to need help walking back to the Keep but overall the outcome for the Royal Guard was quite favorable. When they arrived, Ryon didn't even bother to wash up, opting to go straight to Aidan.

" _FUUUUCK_!" Aidan yelled at hearing of Ferguson's actions. "Fucking Ferguson and MacSwain and Heatherton and most of fucking all, FUCKING  _HARIMANN!_ " He picked up a random letter from his desk, crumpling it into a ball and throwing it in total frustration. Sinking into his chair, Aidan covered his eyes with a trembling hand. "Why… _WHY_  can't we nail him, Ryon? How is he evading us so?"

"Do you really think the assassin spoke the truth? That Ferguson acted alone?" Ryon asked, relaxing a bit as Aidan settled into his chair.  _I wish he hadn't been so impatient, that he would have brought him back to the Keep for me to question…_

"He had honest eyes…if that's even possible for an assassin. And he was after Gavin specifically," Aidan replied, sighing. "So yeah, I think he acted alone."

Ryon approached and took his traditional seat opposite Aidan. "You know, I heard a few years ago that something had happened between Gavin and Ferguson's boy, so I guess that fits. But we know from hearsay that he was involved with Harimann as well. It'd be foolhardy to think that Harimann wouldn't have at least been aware that Ferguson was about to attempt such a thing as this."

Aidan gave Ryon a thin smile. "Oh, something did  _indeed_  happen…Gavin fucked that boy's brains out and Colin caught them in the act. He's been demanding I send Gavin to the Chantry for his 'sinful ways' ever since. But don't think for a moment that I'm not  _certain_  Renly has his grimy hands on this tragedy as well. Yet again, though, he manages to come out smelling like a  _fucking rose_  while his accomplices take the fall." He rolled his eyes and bit his lip.

Ryon went over the case in his mind. "Wasn't Ferguson the last one that we know of that was associated with Lord Harimann directly? Perhaps he'll stop now, with all his aides in Starkhaven dead or imprisoned…"

Aidan didn't feel like getting up to fix himself a drink, so he took a long pull from the flask he often kept in his jerkin instead, wiping a hand across the back of his mouth roughly. "Perhaps. But I want to play it safe…let's wait for a bit…see if we get any word about Robbie. The last thing I want to do is bring Sebastian home too soon. Besides, I got another letter from Denerim. He's doing better than ever. Seems those occasional family visits are doing him some good."

"I suppose he's not feeling quite so lonely," Ryon muttered. "But are you sure it's safe to let Andra and Meghan go so often?"

Aidan snorted. "I hardly call once a year  _often_ , Ryon. But I suppose you're right…this latest attempt just proves that indeed, we're  _all_  in danger. Not just me…not just Sebastian. I'll let Andra know when she gets back that I can't risk her going again."

Ryon cringed. "She'll be devastated, you know."

"I know…but with any luck we'll get our hands on Robbie and Sebastian can come home soon," Aidan said, nodding.  _Any luck at all, Maker, would be most welcome right about now._

**_Kirkwall, Harimann Estate, two weeks later:_ **

"Johane, my darling…I can't…" Renly Harimann grumbled as he fought against her fingers in his hair, kneading at the back of his scalp while he tried to read the latest letter from Starkhaven. "I can't concentrate on this letter when you're distracting me so… _please_. Let me read this."

Johane Harimann retracted her long, spindly digits from her husband's hair, the silvery-purple tint to her flesh fading away as she backed off, standing several paces behind his chair. She watched him with a curious tilt to her head.

"Colin is dead. And with MacSwain having disappeared off the face of Thedas…our final ally has fallen. It seems we've failed, my love," Renly grumbled as he released he letter from his fingers, letting it float to the wooden surface below.

"Nonsense, Renly," Johane purred as she approached her husband again, her voice a haunting echo of itself as glowing purple tendrils sprouted from her hair, giving the appearance of horns. "If control of Starkhaven is what you truly desire, there is nothing in the universe that can keep you from achieving it." She sunk her fingers in his hair once more, and Renly groaned at the intimacy of her touch.

Renly lolled his head forward, unable to resist her ministrations. "There you go with that weird tone in your voice again, Johane. And it's not control of Starkhaven that I desire…you know that."

"Then what is it you seek, my love," Lady Harimann murmured, her voice hot in Renly's ear, eliciting a full-body shudder as she brushed her plush purple lips against the shell of it. "Tell me your deepest desire…"

Renly stifled a loud moan as a frisson of  _want_  coursed its way down his spine. "I desire…I desire  _you_ , Johane. I desire to make you happy, no matter the cost," he gasped.

Lady Harimann spun her husband's chair around and straddled his lap in a fluid motion, gazing intensely into his eyes as she seized his chin with one, purple-tinged hand, the long yellow nails digging into his flesh urging him to obey her next words. "Then your greatest desire is indeed to take control of Starkhaven, Renly, for that is what  _I_  desire  _most_."

Renly gasped as he darted his eyes back and forth, taking in the strangeness in her appearance. "Johane…your  _eyes_ …they look like…"  _They look like a cat's!_

"Hush, sweetheart," Johane said as she gently swept a hand down Renly's face, putting him into a trance. "My  _eyes_  are the least of your concern…" she trailed off as she leaned in close, speaking directly into his ear. "It's what's in my  _soul_  that should have you terrified. Now listen carefully, for this is what needs to be done next…"


	19. If I Never See Your Face Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An archery tournament, a bar fight, a revelation. Alistair gets back at Sebastian.

**_Denerim, one year later:_ **

Sebastian frowned as he scrutinized each of the arrows he had brought to the Ferelden Archery Tournament. He could only have five arrows for the final portion of the contest—accuracy—and needed to make sure that he picked the best of the ones he had brought. After several minutes, he had made his selections and put them in his quiver. Sitting on the lone chair provided, Sebastian took a deep breath and let it out in a long hiss. "Could use some advice right about now, Grandda," he muttered aloud as he recalled the countless hours of training under the late Colum Vael's tutelage.

A knock at the door of his temporary quarters in Fort Drakon interrupted his thoughts, and his relatively-new friend stepped through the door, hands held cautiously behind his back. "Good luck, Sebastian," Alistair said as he came up behind Sebastian and patted him hard on the shoulder, carefully avoiding his quiver. "You've got this, friend. You dominated the speed portion of the competition, tied for distance, now it's just the accuracy and the championship is all yours!"

Sebastian gave him a thin smile, his nerves unable to allow him much more. "Thanks, Alistair. I'm glad you came with me. I can't imagine getting through this without a friend like you by my side."

"Yeah…well…I know how devastated you were when your mother wrote to let you know she couldn't come for your Name Day this year. And your Gran…well…I'm  _terribly_  disappointed that I won't get to see her. I've been practicing a new dance called the remigold…I think she would have been brilliant at it," Alistair replied, snickering awkwardly.

"Aye, she did always like dancing with you… _Goran_ ," Sebastian chuckled.

Alistair sighed. "Someday, you'll have to explain what is so funny about your Gran thinking that I'm your cousin. Anyway, I'll leave you to finish preparations. I just wanted to let you know that I've… _got your back_." He smirked, turned, and walked away, shaking his head. Sebastian watched him, curious to know what that odd expression was for, but ultimately dismissing it as he checked the tension on his bowstring, making sure the loops at either end were securely in their notches.

A booming male voice echoed through the halls of the Denerim Palace's keep. "Archers Vael…Cousland…Howe…report to the range immediately for the final round!"

Sebastian let out a huff and reached back to his quiver, making sure he had his five allotted arrows. He exited his makeshift preparation room, eyes fixed on the stone floor, and nearly ran straight into someone in his haste. They both stopped, just short of impact, and as recognition set in, their jaws dropped.

"You," Elissa Cousland hissed. "I should have known you'd make the finals."

"Nice to see you as well…that was a good showing you had in the speed portion, by the way," Sebastian offered.

"Thanks," Elissa muttered. "I hope you don't have a repeat of last year…you had the contest won until you missed that one shot."

"You were here?" Sebastian asked, and Elissa nodded, her lips pursed. "And you didn't even say hello? You wound me, madam," Sebastian mocked.

"Well, that was before we…uh...I must admit that watching you compete last year was a bit of a precursor to my visit."

"Hmmm…so watching me shoot got you all hot and bothered?" Sebastian teased. "You should have done what you did with your tongue right in the middle of the contest. Now  _that_  would have been a good show. Probably would've won, too. My fatal distraction was because I was quite  _pent-up_ , you see."

"Well…um…yes, but…oh  _balls_. How are you even in the Chantry with such a wicked mouth? We need to go before we forfeit to Nate."

"… _Nate_? You know our competition?"

"Quite well, I'm afraid. He's the son of Arl Rendon Howe, a longtime friend of my father," Elissa replied.

"' _Quite well'_? Sort of like how you know what's in my trousers  _quite well_?" Sebastian winked.

Elissa groaned and turned to leave. "That's for me to know and you  _never_  to," she shot back over her shoulder as she stalked her way out to the competition ring. Sebastian followed, clucking his tongue at himself.  _What luck…competing against a former conquest…who appears to possibly be competing against a former conquest of her own? This contest just got a whole lot more interesting._

"Archers—the accuracy portion of the contest is about to begin," the Crier shouted for not only the trio of finalists, but the whole crowd to hear. "You will have five shots and five shots only. You will fire at a distance of seventy-five yards. The target has four colors from center outward—red, white, blue, and yellow. Shots in the red are worth five points. White, four; blue, three; and yellow, two. In addition, your shot grouping will also be evaluated. The archer with the tightest grouping will receive an additional five points, then four and three respectively. Highest total wins the portion!"

"What if I hit one of my landed arrows with another?" Sebastian asked with a smirk.

The Crier rolled his eyes. "Like that's going to happen," he muttered at Sebastian before addressing the crowd. "Archer Vael asked about a double strike. An arrow that hits a previously-landed arrow will receive double the points. Is that clear?"

The three competitors nodded.

"Good. Archers, ready? First finalist is Nathaniel Howe, of House Howe in the Amaranthine Arldom. Howe, take your shots," the Crier barked as Nathaniel walked up to the marked shooting line. He shot smoothly—having tied Sebastian for the distance portion of the competition—but his nerves got the better of him as his shots tended to strike the target wide right, mainly in the white and blue rings of the target. Three judges rushed to the target after Howe finished, inspecting the landed shots carefully, measuring the diameter of the grouping. They removed Nathaniel's arrows and returned them to him before stepping over to the Crier to give their evaluation.

"Three shots white…two shots blue…eighteen points! Shot grouping diameter is…six inches! Next finalist is Sebastian Vael, of the Denerim Chantry. Vael, take your shots!"

Sebastian nodded in affirmation and stepped up to the shooting line, a smattering of giggles accompanying the polite applause as he did so. He looked around quickly, curious as to what had so many laughing, but shook it off.  _Probably somebody's wee one made a cute face or something._ He reached over his back for an arrow, but stretched his hand too far and his fingers reached his opposite shoulder. Instead of leather straps over scale mail, he had brushed against a piece of parchment instead. Sebastian furrowed his brows as he grabbed and inspected the note, which said  ** _I WEAR WOMEN'S CLOTHES_** in fat, blocky letters. He shot an icy glare at Alistair, who was in the crowd, doubling over with laughter. The Templar trainee quickly told people around him what the note said, and before long a growing number of people were pointing and laughing at Sebastian, who still gripped the note in his right hand. He crumpled the note and tried to throw it to the ground, discovering too late that he had accidentally put his fingers directly in the sticky sap that had been used to tack it onto his shoulder.  _My gloves…they're covered with this shit! BALLS!_

Frustrated, Sebastian tore off his gloves, managing somehow not to get the sap on his actual skin as he threw the offending items behind him. He rubbed his thumb over the pads of his fingers and was glad to find that his callouses had not totally worn away, despite his recent habit of wearing gloves to shoot.  _Come on, Sebastian. You've shot without gloves for the better part of your life. You can still do this._

His nostrils flared in anger as he reached over his shoulder for an arrow once more, being deliberate in his motions so as to not miss the quiver again. He nocked the arrow and brought up the bow as he drew, nesting his draw hand on his cheek and lining up the shot.

" _Sebastian, you must put all else out of your mind when you aim your shots," Colum Vael said as he watched his teenage grandson release his string, the arrow flying wide right. "I know you're angry with your father, lad, but do try. Remember, in battle, you won't get a second shot. You must learn to have the utmost focus in the face of the worst of distractions…and for you the worst distraction is all in your mind. Clear it and try again."_

The Prince took a deep breath as his sights fixed on the target. The rest of the world around him simply disappeared as errant thoughts dissipated in his mind and his grandfather's words took hold. Time seemed to stand still as his vision narrowed, further and further, until all that existed was a red circle. He loosed his first arrow, and it sailed home with a resounding thump.

Sebastian let out his breath after he loosed the arrow. He nocked and fired his next four arrows, all finding purchase in the red scoring circle.  _Thanks, Grandda._ He looked up to the sky, mouthing a silent prayer as he unstrung his bow, returning it to his back and picking up his discarded gloves, the paper still stuck hopelessly to them. He turned around to face his fellow finalists, who had been laughing at Alistair's prank just as hard as most of the crowd. They, too, had been silenced by the stunning accuracy of Sebastian's shots.

_I'll teach this lass to mind her manners yet._

"I know you must be nervous, so here's some advice; do try not to… _come_ …up to the firing line before you're  _told to_ , Elissa," Sebastian whispered as he walked up to her, grabbing a tankard of ale that one of the serving boys held out for him. He took a long drink as he watched a very flustered Elissa start to walk forward to the line automatically as soon as he spoke, before the judges finished scoring Sebastian's shots.

"Excuse me, Lady Cousland, but I haven't called you yet," the Crier said as he held out an arm, stopping her forward progress. "We do have a certain amount of decorum to maintain, even if you're the last archer. Please, stand back by the others until you're called."

"Oh…right… _sorry_ ," Elissa blurted as she returned to the other two competitors, turning a deep shade of red in the process. She refused to look in Sebastian's general direction as she fumed, her arms folded securely across her chest.

The Crier cleared his throat. "Five shots red…twenty five points! Group diameter… _wow_ …an astounding four inches!" The crier beamed and winked at Sebastian before speaking again. "Ladies and Gentlemen…now for your third and last finalist…Elissa Cousland, of House Cousland in the Highever Terynir. Cousland, take your shots!"

Elissa nodded, still a bit pink from her earlier misstep, as she stepped forward to the contest line. She frowned at the target as she shot, her five missiles seeking purchase in the red center and finding it every time. Her shot grouping was, at first glance, just as tight as Sebastian's.  _It'll be close—very close_ , Sebastian thought as she stalked back towards her other competitors, swaying her hips as she glared at him.

The judges evidently thought much like Sebastian, as they took a particularly long time measuring and re-measuring the group diameter. Finally they shrugged their shoulders at each other, then at the Crier.  _Are you sure,_ the Crier mouthed at the judges, and they nodded in affirmation. The Crier shook his head lightly. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have… _a tie_! We shall enter sudden death! Archers Vael and Cousland will get one additional arrow. The one who is closest to the dead center of the target will be the winner of the accuracy portion of the contest. Vael, since you are the overall leader of the competition, you will shoot first. Are you ready?"

Sebastian nodded as he removed the bow from his back, hooking the string and testing the security of the loops. He took cleansing breaths as he approached the contest line and pulled all five arrows from his quiver, inspecting them carefully before picking the best of them and putting the others back. He nocked the arrow and lined up his shot, squinting his eyes ever-so-slightly as he made one final, minute correction to his aim before releasing the taut string. The arrow hissed home, striking the very center of the red circle, which had been marked with a tiny X. The judges rushed in and noted his achievement, removing the arrow. Sebastian looked over to the side, where Alistair stood, smiling and giving a double thumbs-up.

As he turned around, Elissa approached with her bow and chosen arrow in hand. Sebastian stood back by Nathaniel as they watched her take the deciding shot. It flew through the air for what seemed like minutes before landing…just to the right of the mark that Sebastian's arrow had left. Sebastian grinned as Elissa tore at her hair with a blood-curdling  _NOOOOO._ Nathaniel rushed to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders to comfort her as he started to lead her out of the competition arena. As they approached Sebastian, he cleared his throat to catch their attention. They paused, eyeing the victorious archer suspiciously.

"Elissa, you shot extraordinarily well today," Sebastian offered, extending his hand to congratulate her effort. His gesture was met with an icy stare.

" _Don't_  speak to me directly, lowborn. You forget your place—I am the daughter of a Teryn and should be addressed as such," Elissa spat as Nathaniel squeezed her shoulder gently, whispering something in her ear that made her blush. Sebastian chuckled to himself.  _If she only knew…_

The Crier ran up, beaming, to announce results which were already clearly apparent."Ladies and Gentlemen, the winner of the accuracy portion—and overall Champion Archer of Ferelden—is  _Sebastian Vael_!"

Sebastian grinned widely as the Crier handed him a gilded whitewood bow and a sack of gold.  _Aye, the orphans will eat well for a month, easily._ Alistair rushed forward from the throng of people as Sebastian gathered his things. "I knew you could do it, Sebastian. You kicked so much ass today!"

"You got me good, Al...women's clothes?  _Really_?" Sebastian muttered as they walked back into the Fort so he could gather his things. "I'm going to need new gloves now…there's no way I'll be able to get all that stuff off. And my mail…Maker, it's going to take forever to get it clean again!"

Alistair snorted as he grabbed Sebastian's pack. "Well, you  _do_  wear a dress of sorts during your day-to-day Chantry duties. And didn't you tell me all about the men of Starkhaven and their skir-I mean  _kilts_? I  _told_  you I'd get you back someday! I'm a man of my word, what can I say?"

"Well you can start by saying  _'Of course I'll buy all your drinks at the tavern tonight, Sebastian. It'd be my pleasure!'_ " Sebastian said, using as high-pitched and feminine of a voice he could muster without laughing when he impersonated Alistair.

"You took the words right out of my mouth, Vael. Lead the way," Alistair conceded as they exited Fort Drakon.

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

Sebastian was on his third tankard of ale and was surrounded by empty shot glasses, all courtesy of Alistair and the patrons of the Gnawed Noble. In a rare show of generosity, Grand Cleric Lynne had given Sebastian permission to celebrate his victory—and upcoming Name Day—with an evening out.  _Och. The one thing Lynne told us as we left was to not get rip-roaring drunk. Well, at least Alistair's still—oh wait. Nope. He's plastered, too. Damn._  A sideways glance at the blonde warrior confirmed what Sebastian's ears had already screamed; Alistair was absolutely, positively, drunk.

"How many have you had, Al?" Sebastian asked.

"Umm…err…about  _thish_  many," Alistair slurred as he held up his forefinger and thumb to indicate roughly two inches, squinting through the gap at Sebastian and winking.

"That's  _not_  a number," Sebastian said as he cracked up laughing. "Do you mean to say you're still on your first mug?"

" _Shuddup_ …I'm notta drinker like you, Sebashun." Alistair growled. He started to hum, then sing a tune. "Time to pass with goodly sport / Our spirits to revive and comfort … _uh_ …" Alistair stopped, blushing furiously as he realized he was singing the tune far louder than he intended. Sebastian had quickly joined in when he first started, and the neighboring table had joined in soon after they heard the two men's ditty.

Sebastian smirked at Alistair's embarrassment as he stood on the bench to finish the song on his behalf—rather loudly—which roused the other nearby patrons to join in: "To pipe, to sing / To dance, to spring / With pleasure and delight / Following sensual appetite!"

Nearly all of the bar patrons picked up on the last portions of the tune and shouted a resounding "HUZZAH!" Tankards clunked together as the people drained their drinks merrily. The only exception was a young man who had caught Sebastian's eye as he sang and never dropped his glare. Sebastian looked to the man's side and saw Elissa, Nathaniel, and an older man with a large, hooked nose and arrogant sneer. Finally, Sebastian looked away, but not before Elissa had caught sight of him as well.  _Shit. This can't be good._

"I've gotta go find the privy," Alistair mumbled as he got up and stumbled his way through the tavern.

As soon as Alistair had left, the man across the room got up and crossed the tavern to where Sebastian was, sitting beside him. "This seat taken, mate?"

Sebastian gestured at the bench, smiling broadly. "No, be my guest," he said jovially, hoping that his charm would override whatever it was that had the man so foul-tempered.

The man was expressionless as he extended a hand towards him. Sebastian took it, and they shook hands briefly. "Nice job at the tournament today. Name's Fergus Cousland. My sister is a big fan of yours," he said crisply, gesturing towards Elissa, who glared at Sebastian again.

Sebastian tried to feign innocence, but he had a feeling he knew where this conversation was heading. "Oh? Elissa's your sister? How lucky of you. She's a  _sweet_  girl. She's an excellent archer in her own right," he muttered into his tankard as a pretty redhead sauntered by and gave him an obvious wink. Without a second thought, he returned it, which didn't escape Fergus's notice.

Fergus slammed an open palm on the table, causing one of the empty shot glasses to fall over and spin. Sebastian watched it move as Cousland's harsh words filled his ears. "Cut the bullshit, Vael. I know what happened last year, how you treated her. You parade around like a man of the cloth, but in reality you're a damned demon-like a wolf in sheep's clothing." Fergus's words were intended to cut deep, but they were nothing Sebastian hadn't heard before.  _He's not entirely wrong about me, but his sister is anything but a saint…wonder what she told him?_

Sebastian took a swig of ale and cleared his throat before responding, careful to maintain a calm tone laced with incendiary words, which he expected would antagonize the man to his right. "Really? Should I mention now that it was your precious,  _innocent_  little sister that came on to me? How she practically ripped off my trousers when I was merely practicing my archery within the confines of the Chantry gardens? I suppose she left that little part out of her  _woe-is-me_  sob story."

Fergus glanced coldly over at Elissa, who was shaking her head vigorously, eyes wide with horror. She was no fool; she knew by her brother's expression that Sebastian had just told him how things had really started between them, but she also knew that Fergus honestly believed she could do no wrong. Fergus took her adamant denial as gospel, leaning into Sebastian even further. "She thought you would have at least had the decency to court her properly after you slept with her," he snarled. "We are, after all, nobility. Her honor demands no less. You should be glad our father doesn't know what you've done. He could have King Cailan string you up for bringing such disgrace on his only daughter."

Sebastian rolled his eyes, peaked an eyebrow, and gave Fergus a crooked smirk. "I'm a member of the Chantry...I  _can't_  court a lass, let alone get married. Besides, like I said… _she_  came on to  _me_. Not the other way around. She's not the first to do it, and she won't be the last, I'm sure. It's not like she was an innocent, either, Fergus. Whoever  _disgraced_  her first surely wasn't me." He looked back over to Elissa, who was letting Nathaniel's hands roam freely between her leather-clad thighs as they both played the part of the innocent, carrying on pleasant conversation with the older man sitting across from them.

Fergus didn't appreciate Sebastian's casual attitude towards his sister, let alone women in general. He narrowed his eyes on the archer as he leaned back, throwing his hands in disgust. "Well, well, well…you certainly are full of yourself, aren't you?"

"I'm simply aware that I'm rather well-versed in dealing with the opposite sex. There's a difference," Sebastian said sarcastically as he drained his ale, raising his arm to catch the barmaid's attention.

"How did you even end up in the Chantry, anyway? Clearly you don't have the deep faith of a truly devoted Brother."

"That's not entirely true…I do have faith, but I'll give you one good guess."

Fergus pursed his lips in thought. "Hmm…you certainly act the part of a rake, so I'd say that's it. Your womanizing ways got you in trouble, didn't they?"

Sebastian laughed heartily. "Ding-ding-ding! We have a winner," he shouted, causing several patrons to look their way. The barmaid dropped off a fresh tankard of ale.

Fergus's face grew red. "You're an asshole, you know that," he hissed under his breath.

For the first time in their conversation, Sebastian felt that he couldn't let Cousland's words slip idly by. He took a long drink of his ale and let his icy blue eyes bore straight into Fergus's after he put down the mug. "I could say the same about  _you_. Men like  _you_  make me  _sick_. Your sister—unless she lied about her age—is an  _adult_. Yet you persist in treating her like a child by trying to fight her battles for her, in a sense. Is that because she's just a fragile little woman? Let me guess how you wound up sitting here, since you did such an astute job of summing me up. Because you knew what happened between us last year, you badgered her about not confronting me after the competition. Then you saw me in here and snapped. Elissa begged you not to say anything, but you told her to sit down, shut up, and let a man handle this," he hissed.

Sebastian—fully lost to his temper now—was unable to stop himself from pushing Fergus Cousland just a little more, and his next words were intended to incense the man even further. "You wanna know the truth? Contrary to whatever she either said or you assumed about what happened between us, I must say I rather enjoyed my time with her. Wouldn't turn down another go, that's for sure," he said, a sly smirk crossing his lips as he looked directly at Elissa and winked. She blushed furiously and squirmed in her seat.

"You fucking  _bastard_ ," Fergus growled as he threw a punch Sebastian's way, connecting with his left eye. Sebastian reeled from the strike, falling backwards off of the bench and Fergus pounced, desperate to pull the archer up and continue the pummeling.

At the first sounds of the scuffle between Fergus and Sebastian, the rest of the tavern patrons—a hot-headed lot who were as volatile as a powder keg even on the best of days—started going after each other, the light-hearted mood gone as quickly as it had come on. Fergus had just started to pull Sebastian up to a sitting position when a rogue tankard flew through the air and connected with his elbow, the sudden contact startling Fergus, and he lost his grip on the archer's chestplate. Desperate to release his anger, Fergus leaned down over him again, reaching for his thick auburn locks.

Fergus felt a firm tap on his shoulder just as he bent over, followed by a firm voice. "Hey, buddy. You forget he came with a friend?"

"Huh?" Fergus muttered as he spun around. Alistair's punch connected with the man's mouth, sending him flying back onto the floor, out cold.

Sebastian looked at Fergus, then Alistair, and scrambled to his feet, shaking the fogginess from Fergus's sucker punch. _What a punch! Amazing how adrenaline can take care of a bit of overindulgence in drink. Not fifteen minutes ago, Alistair was stumbling drunk!_ "Come on, Al, let's get out of here," he hissed as he looked around, noting that the situation was rapidly escalating out of control. He just caught sight of Elissa as Nathaniel and the older man hustled her towards the back door. "We certainly don't want to be here when the City Guard shows up. Besides, the Grand Cleric told us to be back before midnight."

Alistair nodded as they rushed out of the tavern, sticking to the shadows but taking care to not duck into any alleys—they certainly didn't need to make their night any worse by getting jumped by thugs. As they walked, a contingent of guardsmen rushed by, their armor shifting noisily as they jogged towards the Gnawed Noble. Alistair and Sebastian shared a quick glance which was a mix of relief and astonishment. Reaching the safe confines of the Chantry, both men took a deep breath as Sebastian unlocked the side door in the fence surrounding the gardens. They stepped inside, with Sebastian pulling the gate closed with a soft clink.

As soon as they were inside the gardens, Alistair grabbed Sebastian's arm. "What was  _that_  all about?"

"What was  _what_  all about?" Sebastian asked, amused.

Alistair's brown eyes narrowed on Sebastian's rapidly-purpling shiner. " _That_. Your  _eye_. Why did that man punch you?"

"We had a disagreement," Sebastian muttered.

Alistair furrowed his brows and tightened his grip on Sebastian's arm. "I'm not an  _idiot_ , Sebastian. Please don't patronize me."

Sebastian shook his head, pursing his lips. "No…you're not. He punched me because I slept with his sister. I'm sorry. I just…didn't mean for you to get involved in my affairs any more than you did back there."

Alistair released Sebastian's arm and scratched his chin. "But you've been in the Chantry for what—three years now? Certainly took the guy long enough to catch up with you, didn't it?"

Sebastian chewed his lower lip, unable to meet Alistair's questioning gaze. "Uh, not exactly…I slept with her last year…on my Name Day."

"So it  _is_  true," Alistair muttered as took a few steps away from the archer, running a hand through his cropped golden locks.

Sebastian closed the gap between them. "So  _what_  is true," he asked harshly.

Alistair slumped and sat on a nearby stone bench. He waited for Sebastian to join him before continuing. "When I started asking around about you last year—after we met in the tavern—everybody I talked to kept telling me that you were bad news…to stay away from you. They said that you regularly snuck out to go drinking and whoring around. There are even rumors that you have some sort of hidden lair here where you take women to… _you know_. But after I met you and we started hanging out, I just couldn't believe those stories were true. I figured that-at the worst-maybe you had been like that in Val Royeaux, but you had turned over a new leaf once you got here," Alistair said softly, pausing as he stared at the moonlit grass around his boots. " _Wow_. I…I don't know what to say now."

Sebastian grabbed his shoulder. "Why would that affect our friendship?"

Alistair looked at Sebastian and shook his head, eyes filled with concern. "You don't even deny—well, it shouldn't…I mean, it  _doesn't_  affect our friendship. I just…I've never had a lot of friends. I've certainly never had a friend who wasn't chaste, who drinks a lot, who generally shuns the Chantry's rules. Yet, you're not without faith. In my limited experience, I didn't think it was possible to be like that. It's a just big adjustment to hear rumors of such…er…outlandish behavior, and then actually be around someone so  _worldly_. That's all."

Sebastian snorted softly. "I would hardly call myself worldly, Alistair. I'm not proud of my past. I'm not particularly proud of my  _present_ , most days. I have a lot of demons in me. My father hoped that time in the Chantry would rid me of them, but so far all I've managed to do is just get really good at hiding my sins." He folded and re-folded his hands in his lap nervously.  _I finally make myself a damned good friend and this is what happens. Way to go, Sebastian. Is there nothing my wickedness won't spoil?_

"I guess I just don't see what was so hard about your life before…what would drive you to such," Alistair mumbled. "You're nobility, are you not?"  _Certainly beats living in a stable._

"Indeed, I am. I'm also the third son, and the middle child to boot. There wasn't a whole lot of love left over for me at the end of the day. Now, I can't say that's the only factor involved, because when I took my first drink, when I lost my virginity…it was like something lit in me. A fire that I cannot seem to control. It's like I  _feed_  off of it. I  _crave_  those sinful things like a thirsty man craves water. I shudder to think of what I might be like without the Chantry to at least moderate my behavior to some extent," Sebastian muttered, growing restless at having to acknowledge and deal with his past, clearly anxious over how his friend was reacting.

Alistair softened as he cast a sidelong glance at Sebastian and noticed his stress. "I guess I could learn from you, really," he replied, and Sebastian gave him a curious look at the admission. "When I take my Templar oaths and gain my knighthood, I'm going to have a lot more autonomy. If I'm assigned outside of Denerim, I'll be living outside of a Chantry for the first time since I was a boy. Better to learn how to interact with more, um, _normal_  people before I do that, right?" He gave Sebastian a nervous smile.

Sebastian furrowed his brows.  _Is he just saying that to make me feel better?_ "Alistair…if how I choose to conduct myself makes you uncomfortable and you don't want to be exposed to that, I certainly understand. I don't advocate following my example, by any means."

"No— _no_ , Sebastian. It's not a problem.  _Honestly_. Like I said, I'm just not used to being around a person who is able to live life so fully, and still have faith. Just as I'm sure it was a big adjustment for you to be around people who are so…um,  _reserved_. But we should get to quarters…preferably before we're dragged in by our ears. Judging by the moon, it's awfully close to our curfew."

Sebastian nodded in agreement, and they wordlessly started to make their way to the side entrance. Tip-toeing through the dormitories, they reached Alistair's quarters first.

"Congratulations again, Sebastian," Alistair whispered as he stood in his open doorway, clearly ready to get into bed. "I'll help you clean the sap off your armor in the morning."

"No need…I could use that time to reflect. Good night, Alistair," Sebastian replied with a smile as he snuck further down the hallway, reaching his quarters.  _I could learn just as much from Alistair as he could from me, I bet…we make an interesting pair._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The drinking tune is adapted from an example given in The Cambridge History of English and American Literature in 18 Volumes (1907–21), Vol. II. Also, I need to find me a new archery range...my callouses are coming off. :-(


	20. The Pearl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian attempts to teach Alistair how to shoot a bow and how to love a woman. Both backfire, but Sebastian does have a revelation.

**_Denerim, six months later:_ **

A lone hay bale was propped up against the rear wall of the Denerim Chantry gardens with a red-and-white ringed target draped across its face, an offering of arrows strewn all about on the grass surrounding it. The hiss of another arrow approached and missed the mark again, the head of it snapping off as it struck the stone wall backing the bale.

Sebastian shook his head. "Do you think I sit around fletching arrows just for you to lose them all, Alistair? You're supposed to be aiming for that big red and white thing  _on_  the hay bale," he joked. "Try again."

Alistair rolled his eyes as he snatched up the new arrow Sebastian was holding out for him, fumbling as he nocked it on the string between the two dabs of paint that indicated the arrow's proper placement. He put his fingers on the string on either side of the arrow and started to draw, only to have Sebastian seize his hand.

"No, no,  _no_ ," Sebastian chided. "One finger above, two below the nock. Four fingers are too many."

Alistair grunted as he fixed his finger placement and started to pull again. He had lost count of how many arrows he had fired—twenty, perhaps even thirty—but his sore fingers hadn't. The hotspots forming in the crooks of his fingers promised to give him trouble later when he picked up a sword again. Letting out a huff, he pulled the bow up, resting his draw hand against his cheek like he had watched Sebastian do so many times. He squinted and moved the bow until the arrow seemed to be pointing directly at the target, then released the string.

The arrow hit the ground three feet in front of the bale.

Sebastian doubled over laughing.

"That's  _it_. No more archery for Alistair.  _I QUIT_ ," the blonde shouted as he dropped the bow and stormed off.

Sebastian stifled his laughter and ran after his friend, turning and walking backwards when he caught him in order to speak face-to-face. "Come on, Alistair. I was easily just as bad when I first started learning. You'll get it, I promise," he said in a soothing tone, only a hint of amusement breaking through. "I'm sorry that I've been laughing. Watching you shoot just brings back memories of archery lessons when I was a lad. Let's go back and try again…please?"

Alistair stopped and leveled a glare at Sebastian. "You said you started archery lessons when you were  _five_ ," he spat. "I'm nearly  _twenty-two_. Big difference. I clearly do not have the natural skills that you possess with a bow."

Sebastian—who had stopped when Alistair did—ran a hand through his hair, a crooked grin seizing his lips. "Aye, I was pretty young when I started. The only reason I'm pushing you so hard is because you've been teaching me your blade skills…the least I can do is get you to where you can hit whatever you're aiming at. You might not depose me as the best archer in Ferelden, but you might be able to catch yourself some supper if need be," Sebastian replied with a warm smile and shrugged shoulders.

"Fine…I'll try again. But not today. My fingers hurt," Alistair muttered as he flexed his fingers, inspecting the hotspots for emerging blisters. "I need to be able to spar with the other recruits later, you know. The Knight-Captain will have my hide if I can't even hold my sword."

"Fair enough. All I ask is that you give me another chance to teach you. We'll give it a few days, to let your fingers rest a bit. Anyway, I'm going to lie down for a bit…I didn't sleep very well last night," Sebastian mumbled as a yawn escaped him.

Alistair peaked an eyebrow at his friend. "Again? Are you having bad dreams or something?"

"Aye…some nights I swear I scarcely get an hour of rest," Sebastian said as he slumped a bit.

"What are your dreams about that they torment you so?"

"I—would you say that we're good friends now, Alistair?" Sebastian gave Alistair a grave look.

"Of course. We've gotten into our fair bit of shenanigans as time's gone by. I'd fairly say we have each others' backs. Why?"

"Let's go sit under that tree," Sebastian said as he pointed towards an isolated maple near the storage shed. As they made their way to the secluded spot, neither man said a word until they sat simultaneously. It was only then that Alistair noticed Sebastian's hands were shaking.

"I can trust you, right?" Sebastian's normally smooth voice wavered a bit.

"Sebastian, what is—"

"Can. I. Trust. You," the archer demanded a bit more firmly.

"Yes," Alistair replied without hesitation.

Sebastian let out a huge breath. "I'm going to tell you what really happened…why I'm  _really_  in the Chantry. Most think it's because of my behavior, but that's only a small part of it. I need you to keep everything I'm about to say to yourself, because my life depends on it."

Alistair's eyes grew wide. "Maker's  _breath_ , Sebastian. What did you do, kill someone?" The surprised look on Sebastian's face told Alistair that his guess had hit awfully close to the truth, and the warrior's jaw practically dropped to the ground. "You  _did_? You  _killed someone_?"

Sebastian gripped his friend's shoulder hard to get his attention. "No, I  _didn't_ …but my behavior painted me in a poor enough light that many people in Starkhaven still think that I actually did."

"I don't understand…" Alistair trailed off as his heart hammered in his chest.

Sebastian's fingers snarled in his hair as he spoke. "Someone did die—my girlfriend. I loved her so much…but there was another man, and a pregnancy…next thing I knew I was proposing marriage, saying we could run away and live as we wanted to. She agreed…said she'd break it off with the other guy…and then she went missing. Four days later, they found her body in the river. The man that killed her forged some notes that made it look like she double crossed me. We were supposed to meet by the river, so when that was where she turned up, it made matters even worse. Anyway, once it became clear that I was innocent, he was already long gone. People in Starkhaven started to get angry about the unsolved case, so my father sent me to Val Royeaux…partly as punishment, but mostly for protection."

Alistair shot him a sideways glance, his tone skeptical. "How did your father manage to have such pull with the Divine? I know you're a noble, but—"

"My father is the ruler of Starkhaven," Sebastian interrupted. "I'm thi— _fourth_ …fourth in the line of succession, now." He had nearly forgotten that Corbinian's little boy, not Gavin, was second in line for the crown now.  _I wonder if Gavin's had any children yet…it's been so long since I got word from home._

"Maker's breath, you too?" Alistair muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair as his mind reeled at the weight of Sebastian's revelations.

Sebastian was taken aback by Alistair's quiet outburst. "What do you mean by  _that_?" He hissed as he seized the hand that was scrubbing through golden locks, and Alistair was surprised at the gesture.

"OH! That was out loud, wasn't it…um… _oh boy_. Look, this has to stay absolutely quiet, okay?"

Sebastian released his wrist and a thin smile crossed his face. "I just told you how I'm still considered a suspect in a murder case and an exiled son of a Prince, to boot. I'm pretty sure whatever you have to say can't compare to that. Your secret is safe, Alistair."

"Can't compare, eh? We'll see about that. Where shall I start…oh yeah. I'm a bastard," Alistair started, and Sebastian started to snicker. "The  _fatherless_  kind, you ass. Only I happen to know who my father was…at least who I was  _told_  he was, anyway. My father was Maric Theirin."

"Maric…Theirin…you mean  _King Maric_? You're a  _prince_?" Sebastian smiled, relieved that his friend was keeping just as potent of secrets as he was. Somehow, in that moment, he didn't feel quite so alone in the world.

Alistair placed a single finger on his lips. " _SHHH!_  Keep your voice down! Yes.  _That_  Maric Theirin. My mother was a barmaid…she died not long after giving birth to me. My father knew the whole time about… _me_ …and had me placed in the Arl of Redcliffe's household to be raised after her death. The Arlessa was kept in the dark about my parentage…but she wouldn't stop accusing me of being the Arl's ill-begotten offspring. Eventually, her paranoia got so bad that she demanded that I be put in the Chantry…so here I am."

Sebastian leaned back slightly, as if Alistair's words themselves had pushed him. "I take back what I said, Alistair. Your background is certainly comparable to mine. I don't feel so alone now," he said softly, looking down at the grass briefly before meeting Alistair's eyes again sincerely. "I'm glad you told me. I'm glad I told you about what happened to me, too. I feel better with all that out in the open now." He gave the fellow Prince an easy smile.

Alistair let out a huge breath, shaking his head. "Me too. I'm just glad that Cailan is doing a decent job as King. I don't know what I'd do if that task fell to me."

Sebastian shot Alistair a crooked grin. "You don't have any desire to rule?"

A brief look of abject horror flashed across Alistair's face, and his brown eyes flew wide. "No. I  _don't_. I've spent the majority of my life trying to forget my lineage," he spat, before regaining composure and recovering the sarcastic attitude that had always carried him through such difficult conversations. "Bad things happen when I'm put in charge, Sebastian. People get lost, cheeses go bad…how about you? Do you wish to rule?"  _Deflect. Yes. That would be good._

Sebastian scratched at his chin as he looked up briefly. "I sometimes think I could do better than my father. He's a bit of a brute. Not much for diplomacy," he offered. "I spent a lot of my early years at my Grandda's side, when he was still on the throne. I learned a lot from him, like how to balance being devout and being a fair ruler."

Alistair shot him a skeptical look. "You don't think your… _vices_  would interfere?"

"Perhaps. But if I were ruler…well…there are a lot of things that don't get a second glance when you're in charge, know what I mean?" Sebastian responded, chuckling lightly. "Besides, I could take a wife. I found that when I was with Colleen, I didn't have the urge to do the wicked things that tempt me so."

"So love conquers all, eh," Alistair said, mocking Sebastian with an exaggerated swoon, falling against his shoulder and batting his eyelashes for just a moment before bursting into a giggle fit.

Sebastian pretended to be annoyed as he shoved the warrior off of him, but ultimately failed to keep himself from joining in Alistair's infectious laughter. "Aye. It does. Trust me."

Alistair straightened up and cleared his throat, growing a bit more serious. "You know, I think they're going to make me take my Templar oaths soon. I've been in training long enough…since I was eighteen, actually. They haven't started giving me any lyrium yet, though, so I'm not quite sure."

" _Lyrium_? Why on Thedas would they give you lyrium?" Sebastian peaked an eyebrow as he looked at Alistair.

"Uh… I shouldn't really talk about it. I'm really not even supposed to know myself."

Sebastian playfully punched Alistair's arm. "Come on…they recruited me pretty hard in Val Royeaux, you know. I could have been serving right beside you. I don't recall the Templars there mentioning anything about lyrium, though."

"Fine," Alistair grumbled, as he dropped his voice low. "The lyrium is what gives the Templars the power to nullify mages so well. It gives enough magic for us to nullify their mana. Unfortunately, it has to be in the blood constantly for it to give a non-mage such abilities…and it's pretty addictive. Withdrawal can often be fatal for those who serve the Order for long enough."

"That's—that kind of makes sense, actually. Terrible price to pay, though," Sebastian said softly.  _I bet that's why Seeker Richard didn't want me joining the Templars...he knows me all too well—he knows that I tend to get hooked on things quite easily. I wonder if the Seekers do the same thing—if he is given lyrium on a continual basis?_

"At least it's not terminal if you keep taking the lyrium," Alistair said as he shrugged his shoulders.

Sebastian furrowed his brows as he strained to recall the time he spent in the barracks in Val Royeaux, practicing alongside Templar Knights.  _Wait…I bet that's what was wrong with Knight-Lieutenant Pierre…_ "You know, I think that exposure to lyrium—for a non-mage—can do strange things to a man's mind. I distinctly recall a Templar in Val Royeaux that was utterly daft. All he could do was spout bits of the Chant, no matter what you asked him. Never really had a firm grasp on where he was, what was going on…the Knight-Captain said he'd been a Templar too long—that his blood was poisoned by magic. He must have been referring to the lyrium dosing."

Sebastian's description of the Templar's strange behavior struck a chord with Alistair.  _Come to think of it, that Templar guarding the Chantry door acts pretty much the same way._ "Damn…I think you're right, Sebastian. Oh well…I'll just have to be sure to die young and pretty, then."

"Of course, Alistair. Young, pretty, and  _virginal_." Sebastian pretended to pout as he patted Alistair's cheek.

Alistair swatted his hand away. "Shut up, Sebastian. We can't all be man-whores, you know. Some of us are a bit more  _reserved_  in those matters."

Sebastian chuckled. "All I'm saying is that a simple trip to The Pearl would remedy your problem. You'd be less nervous dealing with women in general were you to get that pent-up frustration out of your system. It's your choice, though. The offer is on the table. Or bed…or wall…or wherever you'd like to get it on, actually. I think you have the potential to be a naughty little Templar, Alistair," he teased.

Alistair's jaw twitched and his nostrils flared slightly as he snorted.  _Naughty little Templar…I swear, he can be such an ass…but he makes a good point. And once I take my oath, that's it. Dying a virgin. Ugh._ He took a deep breath, waving a hand in Sebastian's direction. "Okay, you got it. Tonight…at The Pearl. Shall we wait 'til dark and sneak out like we do when we go to the tavern, or go there in broad daylight so it's easier for the Maker to spot and smite us?"

Sebastian's jaw dropped; he hadn't actually expected Alistair to ever accept the offer. "Uh...um,  _yeah_ ," he blurted, running a hand into his hair. "Yeah, after supper…sneak…yeah. All of that. Anything you want, too. It's on me."

"It's a date, then. I'm not a cheap date, either. Don't think you can just get all  _this_  for a couple of silvers," Alistair said sarcastically, with only a slight hint of waver in his voice.

"You'd better watch what you say, Alistair. I am a shameless man-whore, after all," Sebastian shot back as he got up and walked toward the Chantry, leaving Alistair on the bench to wallow in his anxiety.

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

**_The Pearl, later that night:_ **

"Where did you get that getup, Alistair," Sebastian muttered under his breath as walked through the streets of Denerim, looking at his friend with a sideways glance. The Templar recruit had somehow gotten his hands on a set of finery that could only be described as ridiculous.  _I can't even—seriously? There are so many buttons on that double-breasted doublet of his that the whore will spend her entire allotted time undo—HEY. Oh no, he's not. If he's going to be bold enough to tell me he wants to go to The Pearl, then Alistair is going to make full use of the time I pay for. FULL use. Even if I have to watch over him like a damned hawk._

"One of the older guards let me borrow it after I told him what I was up to. Apparently I'm not the only one who gets in a rush to be deflowered before taking their oaths," Alistair whispered as he tugged at the doublet's sleeves, which were just a hair too short. "He said whores don't like having to deal with armor."

Sebastian grabbed Alistair's arm and leaned towards him. "You… _told the guards_  where you were going—what you're doing? You didn't mention  _my_  name, did you? Maker knows I don't need that extra trouble," he hissed into his friend's ear.

Alistair pulled out of Sebastian's grip, looking down, watching his feet fall one in front of the other. "No…I didn't mention your name."

"Good…thanks," Sebastian mumbled as he let out a small sigh.

Alistair snorted. "Didn't  _need_  to. They had it all figured out." He failed to maintain a straight face when Sebastian glared at him.

Sebastian growled at the joke. "Lying is a  _sin_ , Alistair."

Alistair's eyebrows shot up in jest. "So is fornicating, but you don't seem to mind."

"Neither do you, since you're here," Sebastian said with a smirk, before nodding towards the door of the brothel. "Let's go in before you chicken out."

"I-I'm not going to chicken out," Alistair retorted, defiant.

Sebastian rolled his eyes. "Sure you're not. Come on."

They entered the brothel, making their way through the relatively-empty main hall until they reached Sanga, the proprietor.

"Sebastian," she purred. "So nice to see you again. And you've brought a friend, I see. Branching out…experimenting a bit?"

Sebastian blushed furiously. "Uh, nice to see you too, Sanga. This is my friend, Alistair…he's not my… _uh_ …I'll have you know that I'm strictly a fan of the  _ladies_. Anyway, he needs an hour or two with Shoshanna—my treat," he said as he handed forty silver to Sanga.

She took the coin discreetly before sizing up the blonde man behind Sebastian, putting her hands on her hips as she took in the sight. "Is he sweating? He looks like he's going to throw up on my Antivan carpet. I'm not sure Shoshanna needs to be exposed to the  _plague_ , Sebastian."

Sebastian turned around and caught a glimpse of what Sanga was talking about; Alistair indeed was a pale, sweaty, fidgety, slightly-green jumble of nerves. He turned back to the madam, leaning into her ear. "Uh…perhaps an ale for him first. I must admit that he is an innocent. He's not so much sick as he is terrified," he whispered, and Sanga gave him a warm nod of knowing.

"Certainly. Tell you what…he's a  _cutie_. Ale's on the house," she said with a wink. Sanga snapped her fingers and the barkeep quickly poured two generously-sized tankards of ale, setting them on the bar.

"A drink first, Al…to take the edge off. Just be sure to not drink the whole damned thing, okay? I don't want you passing out before the show gets started," Sebastian said as he snatched up his ale and put his back against the bar's edge, watching the nearly-empty room.

Alistair huddled over the tankard on the bar and rolled his eyes before taking a large gulp. "Perhaps it would be easier that way."

"No, trust me. You'll want to remember this," the archer replied with a bemused look.

Alistair's head whipped to face Sebastian with a harsh look in his eyes that was as full of fire as it was of fear. "Will I? I've heard enough raucous tales from the other Templars to know that this is likely to be one of the most embarrassing nights of my  _life_. If I don't spend in my breeches at the first sight of naked breasts, I'm likely to last only about  _two seconds_ ," he hissed before pausing to let out a frustrated huff, resuming his tirade while staring blankly at the wall behind the bar, gesturing wildly. "The girl will be bored to tears at my ineptitude. Knowing me, I'll probably end up injuring her somehow, like with a stray elbow or something…no, I think I want to be as drunk as possible, actually." Alistair looked into his tankard and held his breath as he gulped down the rest of the brew as quickly as he could manage.

Everything in Alistair's voice and actions led Sebastian to realize that his friend simply wasn't ready for such a life-changing step. Guilt crashed over him.  _How could I even have joked about having him lose his innocence like this? It goes against everything in his nature, everything he's been told or taught. He's a gentleman, not a rake. I should never have tried to make him be more like me, even if the thought of us terrorizing the lasses in Denerim is terribly amusing._

Sebastian turned around, mirroring Alistair's stance over the bar as he leaned in close. "You don't have to do this if you don't want to, Alistair. If you feel pressured, I'm truly sorry," he whispered as he gave his friend a remorseful look.

A huge wave of relief washed over the young Templar recruit. " _Really_? You're not going to watch over me and coach me through this?" He gave Sebastian a weak—yet impish—smile.

Sebastian recoiled at the suggestion, wrinkling his nose like he did when entering a privy that really needed cleaning. "Maker,  _NO_. That…just  _no_. No, no, no. It would definitely make the situation worse."

"Relax, I was only kidding…but seriously…you're okay with it if I don't go through with this? It's just…I've been thinking about it all afternoon…and I've decided that I'd rather not sleep with a woman I don't care for—that I don't  _love_."

Sebastian patted his friend on the back. "Ah, Alistair…you are  _such_  a gentleman…almost to a fault. It is admirable that you are willing to torment yourself physically until you find the right girl. Go on…go back to the Chantry," he said gently.

Alistair gave the archer a skeptical look. "What about you?"

Sebastian shrugged. "No refunds. I'll be damned if I'm going to let 40 silvers go to waste."

"Of course not," Alistair replied as he shook his head, feeling a bit guilty that his friend had spent so much and couldn't simply get it back. "Thanks, Sebastian. Really. Both for offering to help me through this, and now letting me off the hook. You're a true friend."

Sebastian took a hearty drink from his tankard. "As are you, Alistair. As are you. Now go on…unless you'd rather wait until I'm done."

Alistair thought for a moment, worrying his chin with a calloused thumb. "I think I'll wait, actually…I'm not crazy about walking the streets of Denerim at night alone without armor or blade. Don't rush on my part, though."

"You'll be here a while. I paid for two hours, and I intend to use it all," Sebastian said with a smirk. He walked over to Shoshanna, gesturing for her to lead the way to her room.

Shoshanna, with her cropped, silvery-blonde hair, swayed her hips enticingly as she led the way to the very back of her room. As she walked, Sebastian watched her, fixated on how she was pulling the ties of her robe, slipping the thin silk garment off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor before she spun around with a flourish.

"You paid for two hours, Sebastian. What will it be tonight…do you want to play nice, or do you want to change things up a bit?"

"Play nice," Sebastian whispered roughly as Shoshanna walked behind him, sliding straps through buckles as she deftly removed his chestpiece. He chewed on his lower lip as she slowly unfastened each hook that held his scale mail vest shut, the anticipation of feeling her soft hands on his skin starting to cause the blood to rush from his head to parts further south. With the weighty vest of armor gone, he hastily pulled off his thin leather top as Shoshanna unlaced his breeches in record time. They groaned together as her fingers curled around him, already achingly hot and full, and she made quick work of bringing him into a state of near-breathlessness as her tongue danced wickedly along his manhood. He stumbled backwards, thighs hitting the edge of her bed, and he sat ungracefully, propping himself on his elbows as his blue eyes narrowed on the sight of his cock ringed by Shoshanna's red-tinted lips.

Sebastian threw his head back and screwed his eyes shut, seeking to revel in the sensations of the Antivan's warm, wet mouth—but he found that his mind drifted. Usually, he took solace in choosing to sleep with women that were just as—if not more—experienced than he was. In his twisted way, he felt like whores were kindred spirits to him—two nymphomaniacs getting what they needed. Tonight, though, even though the woman before him was beautiful, and already  _familiar_  to him, Sebastian couldn't help but let his mind wander to the other men who had her, multiple times per day, every day.  _How long has she been a prostitute, I wonder? How many has she had…dozens? Hundreds?_

He was lost to his thoughts as Shoshanna stopped fellating him and got up, pushing him back onto her bed as she straddled him. She frowned slightly, noticing that her john didn't seem to be fully present. Hoping to encourage him, the Antivan grabbed his hands, placing them over her breasts. She smiled when Sebastian shook his head once and gave her that familiar lopsided grin that she had come to adore. He caressed her breasts instinctively, rolling her hard nipples between his calloused fingers as she leaned down over him, sucking on his neck just below the ear. Sebastian sucked in a breath, the hissing noise intended to remind her that she was not to leave any marks on him. She stopped, trailing kisses down his throat as he slid one hand down between her thighs, finding her more than ready for him. His fingers stopped there, however, as his thoughts flew back to their previous couplings and he became painfully aware that things had progressed almost  _exactly_   _like this_  every single time.

"Wait," Sebastian muttered as he seized Shoshanna's hips, stopping her just before she sank down onto his hard length. "I just…something doesn't feel right. I'm sorry."

Shoshanna rolled off of Sebastian and looked at him with concern. "Is it not as you like? Did I do something wrong," she asked desperately.  _If he leaves this room less than fully satisfied I'll get the whip for sure!_ "Did you change your mind about playing nice? You can tie me up like last time, if you'd like…maybe you'd like to be tied up for once? Whatever you want, whatever you need, I'll do it." She scrambled and reached into the top drawer of her nightstand, pulling out a riding crop and a length of cord, holding one in each hand, raising her eyebrows in a silent plea.

Sebastian propped himself up on his elbows and looked at the whore with sad eyes. "How long have you…been…"

Shoshanna let the toys in her hands drop to her sides as she let out a sigh. "How long have I been a  _whore_?" Her question was met with a nod. "Well, I guess I was about thirteen when I started here—"

"What happens to you after… _you know_ …you stop doing  _this_?" Sebastian interrupted her, stunned when he learned that she started selling herself at the same age that he lost his virginity. He couldn't help but draw a frightening parallel between their lives then, and he soon realized that he was every bit as much a whore as she—the only difference was that he  _didn't_  get paid. The thought that the difference between whore and rake was as simple as who handed coin to who was sobering.

Shoshanna put the crop and cord back in her nightstand, falling back against the bed's pillows. "Brothel owners aren't exactly known for having generous retirement plans, if that's what you mean. I—I guess I've never really thought about what I will do after I get too old for this. Most whores don't survive long enough for it to be a concern," she muttered as she worried her cuticles.

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"Oh come now, Sebastian. You seem like you're no stranger to the inner workings of a brothel. Surely you know that for every nice patron like you, there are four or five that want nothing more than to beat a woman into a bloody pulp and are willing to pay a pretty silver or two to get that. The life expectancy of your average run-of-the-mill whore is… _well_ …let's just say I'm pushing it, shall we," Shoshanna replied bitterly.

"It sounds like you have no hope of finding a husband, of having a family life," Sebastian whispered. His chest stung a bit at the hopeless expression he received in return.

"Unless you're  _offering_ , honey, nope. What man wants to marry a whore? I know my place." She grabbed a pillow and clutched it tightly, her knuckles turning white.

Sebastian leaned in a bit closer, searching her eyes for any trace of the soul beneath. "How do you deal with having to be with—"

"Rum. Lots of rum…and poppy smoke," she said curtly, looking away from his intense gaze.

Sebastian leaned back again. He had no idea that she took such powerful things. "Poppy— _every_  time? You're on it right now?"

Shoshanna nodded, speaking with a calculated tone. "Look, Sebastian…I do what I do because I'm  _good_  at it, not because I enjoy it. I stopped enjoying it a  _long_  time ago…I don't really think I ever did, actually. Anyway, I find that if I get myself good and numb, and do the things that I know my customers like, I can get through the days much easier."

"Yes, but at what cost?" Sebastian asked as he looked at Shoshanna for several long moments. She could only furrow her brows in reply. As he scanned her face, he started to notice little cracks in the carefully-crafted veneer the prostitute had presented. The flush in her cheeks was nothing more than a smear of rouge, the kohl rims around her eyes masking the dark circles that many a sleepless night had brought on. The large pupils of her blue eyes—which he had formerly attributed to lust but now knew to be from the poppy smoke—caused them to appear nearly black.

It was the first time he had looked at a prostitute and seen the broken woman underneath.

_I am so glad that Alistair turned this down. I can't imagine how he'd be handling this…actually, yes. I can. I know exactly what he'd do…at least what he'd want to do. Here goes nothing…_

Sebastian wrapped an arm around Shoshanna's shoulder, pulling her into him. She automatically started working her hands down to his softening length, but he stopped her. "No…I don't want you to do that. Not anymore, at least not for  _me_. For the rest of our time tonight, you're just going to relax. Let's talk," he whispered as he planted a delicate kiss on the top of her hair, catching a whiff of the acrid poppy smoke that permeated it. Internally, he chastised himself for never noticing such things before, yet was oddly glad that he finally did.  _This…this is nice. Feels like the right thing to do. Maybe it's not too late to turn things around…to try and be more of a gentleman like Alistair._

For the remainder of his paid time—after he insisted that they get dressed in order to prove that he was serious about no sex—Sebastian simply held Shoshanna and let her talk. She spoke of her childhood, of being sold to pay the rent when her parents' crops failed to satisfy their Lord's demands. Her hands waved excitedly as she described her brothers and their various hijinks. Shoshanna showed him some of her brilliant sketches, a skill she practiced in secret during her rare downtime. The Antivan beauty reveled in the ability to speak so freely, laughing and crying and just enjoying the simple act of  _feeling_  again as Sebastian sat and listened.

Before either of them knew it, a sharp rapping on her door signified that time was up. They rose from the bed and Sebastian cupped Shoshanna's cheek, rubbing his thumb across her chin. "I'll be back next week…and _every_  week, as long as I can afford to do so. But I'll not ask you for sexual favors…not ever again. I  _promise_. We'll just visit," he said gently as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. She choked out a weak  _thank you_ as she hugged him fiercely, a lone tear slipping down her cheek.

Sebastian exited her bedchamber, feeling far lighter in his steps than he had in a painfully long time.  _That felt good, just sitting back and listening. I don't even care that I didn't get off. I don't think I can ever 'visit' a prostitute again in good conscience…not knowing what I know now._

"Did you  _enjoy_  yourself," Alistair ribbed as they walked back to the Chantry.

Sebastian snuffed and smiled, shaking his head lightly at the outcome of their trip. "Yeah, I did. I really,  _really_  did."

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

**_Starkhaven Royal Palace:_ **

Gavin Vael knocked on the door of his father's study. Even through the thick oak, he could hear his father clearly admit him entry. He walked in to see his father Aidan at his desk, wrapping thread carefully around a tuft of feathers, tucking the free end carefully before setting down his tools and looking up from his fly-tying vise.

"Seneschal," Aidan said with a smile. "How nice to see you. I hear you have some news to share? Have a seat…I'll get you a drink." He rose, smoothing down his kilt and crossing over to his liquor cabinet. After pouring two generous portions of scotch, he returned, setting one glass in front of his newly-appointed Seneschal, keeping the other for himself as he settled into his chair. "Are you settling into your new duties, by the way? I hope the sudden promotion hasn't been too difficult to handle."

Gavin looked into his glass, swirling the scotch slowly. "No…it's been fine. Thank you, Your Highness. I'm just still in shock over Logan's accident," he muttered.

Aidan looked out of his window somberly. "Yes…well, even the most accomplished horseman must remain ever-vigilant in the saddle, especially when jumping…" he trailed off, but quickly shook his head and recovered. "Anyway…the news?" His blue eyes were wide with anticipation.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say that you already know," Gavin said wryly as he took a sip of the amber liquor.

"I do. I just want to hear it again," Aidan said with a wide grin.

Gavin returned the smile. "Very well, I'll indulge you…I have multiple,  _confirmed_  reports that Rob MacSwain has been spotted in Ferelden. Lothering, to be specific. Shall I send word to Sebastian to take care of business? Use that pretty armor of his at long last?"

Aidan looked horrified. " _NO_. Absolutely  _not_. The last thing he needs is to have even more trouble heaped on his shoulders. I have been pondering asking King Cailan to extradite Robbie, actually. I think it'd be a good way to get to know him…to open the door for future trade deals. He'd be a fool to refuse my request. Offending me would essentially lock him out of making deals with the better part of the Free Marches."

"Would you like me to draft the letter?"

Aidan nodded. "If you have the time, it would help me a great deal. You are far more charming than I…appeal to Cailan's vanity. He's terribly full of himself, or so I hear."

"Not a problem, Sire. Do you have any further need of me," Gavin asked, rising to his feet.

Aidan mirrored his move. "No, that is all. Thank you, Gav—er, Seneschal," he said, clearing his throat when he caught his gaffe.

Gavin cocked his head to the side. "Do we really need to use these stuffy titles, Father," he whined.

Aidan shot him a stern look. "Yes. There needs to be a separation between our personal and professional relationships. Now I'll talk to—"

A knock at the door interrupted Aidan. Matthias, his long-time servant, entered the Prince's study. "The Barons Stuart and MacNair wish to speak with you, Your Highness. They said it's urgent."

Aidan grumbled, nodding towards Matthias to admit the men. The minor nobles entered and dropped to bended knee briefly before bouncing back up.

"Gentlemen, how may I assist you," Aidan said stiffly.

Baron Stuart—a ruddy-faced, stout man—cleared his throat. "Your Highness, we wish to speak to you about a  _sensitive_  matter. Are you sure you wish Gavin to be present?"

Aidan peaked an eyebrow and folded his arms across his chest. "Gavin is the new Seneschal, so yes. He  _will_  stay."

Stuart shrugged his shoulders. "Very well. We wanted to speak to you about the case involving Sebastian."

The newly-minted Baron MacNair chimed in. "Yes…it's been nearly four years and still…nobody has been arrested, nobody has been punished for the murder. The lack of action is growing more difficult for us to ignore."

Aidan shifted from one foot to the other. "The girl was nothing more than a servant. I don't see why her death has the nobility up in arms," he said as nonchalantly as possible, hoping that the Barons didn't know about her true lineage.

"The lass was the daughter of a Kirkwall noble, Prince Vael," Stuart hissed. "It's positively baffling why you haven't done more…add to that your poor record of keeping our  _own_  nobility alive and, well…I think you can see why we're up in arms. What do you have against the nobility? Are you that eager to eliminate any who would openly challenge your rule?"  _Great. This is just what Gavin needs to hear. I hope he can keep his damned trap shut._

"How do you— _nobody_  knew who her father was," Aidan spat.

Gavin tried to maintain a veneer of calm as his father handled the situation. At first—when the nobles first entered the study—the prospect of watching his father do what he did best was appealing. But when the topic quickly turned to the unsolved murder, the revelation about Colleen's lineage was a stunning blow. He wisely opted to return to his seat and observe the confrontation quietly. The nobles, for their part, were so focused on Aidan that they forgot that Gavin was even there. He watched intently as the Barons took turns speaking now, a tag-team effort of sorts that barely gave Aidan a chance to respond before the next challenge came. Gavin likened them to a pack of dogs, circling his father as they snarled and barked.

The hot-headed MacNair came scandalously close to Aidan, his eyes squinting as he scrutinized the Prince. "Huzzah! Finally, something resembling the truth," he exclaimed sarcastically. "Since you're being so forthcoming, let's talk about why Sebastian disappeared right around the time the lass was killed, eh?"

Baron Stuart sidled up to his friend, looking at him while he spoke with a venomous tone. " _I_  heard he was in the Chantry…why  _ever_  would you send your boy to the Chantry if he's in the line of succession? Doesn't make much sense to put a perfectly good Prince away when you've got two princesses to give to the Maker's service."

"Seems like a move of a man desperate to hide something, doesn't it?"

"Sure does, MacNair. Like he's trying to protect a…oh…I don't know…a  _murderer_?" Stuart shot his partner a smarmy look.

"Sebastian is  _innocent_ ," Aidan hissed. "Robbie MacSwain killed the girl, his father confessed to as much on his behalf. We are searching all of Thedas for the boy. We just got news that he was spotted in Ferelden. I'm appealing to King Cailan to have him sent home for judgment."

Baron MacNair snorted, unswayed by the news. "How convenient. Speaking of Brennen MacSwain…gee…we haven't seen him in a couple of years, have we?"

"I wonder where he could be…I surely hope he didn't meet the same fate as Lord Heatherton," Stuart said sarcastically.

MacNair peaked an eyebrow. "Or Lord Ferguson. Such a pity, having your home torched like that." He shook his head and gave an exaggerated sigh.

Aidan brushed off the implied accusation and stomped back around his desk, sitting heavily in his chair as he waved his hands in frustration. "Oh, now that is just  _ridiculous_. Lord Ferguson hired an assassin to kill Gavin. When he learned that his plot had failed, he killed his family and himself rather than be taken into custody alive. That had  _nothing_  to do with Heatherton's plot against Sebastian. What is it you two  _really_  want?" He picked up his glass of scotch and drained the remainder.

Gavin couldn't prevent the gasp that escaped his lips.  _Wait…there was a hit out on me? Why didn't anybody say anything?_ Aidan realized at his son's gasp that he had completely forgotten Gavin was in the room and cringed. He shot his son a brief, remorseful glance.

Baron Stuart stalked over to Aidan's desk, planting his palms on the polished wood as he stared the Prince down. "We know the level of corruption in your family. It's poisoning Starkhaven, spreading like a plague through our land. You married off your heir to Tantervale, when he clearly should have taken a lass from Kirkwall for a wife." He glanced back over his shoulder. "Do we even need to start talking about  _you_ , Gavin? Those all night orgies you're involved in with that Cumberland whore of a wife? And Sebastian…well…come  _on_. Let's call him what he really is…a  _soulless murderer_."

Gavin could no longer hold his tongue. He leapt up, face flush with anger. "That's  _it_. You've gone too far. Hold your tongues or the Guard will clap the chains on you!"

MacNair got right in Gavin's face, cocking his head to the side. " _Seneschal_  now, is it? How convenient. Why don't you just sit back down and let your daddy handle this, huh?"

Aidan, for his part, hadn't broken Stuart's intense stare, even as Gavin and MacNair looked like they might come to blows. "The  _Seneschal_  is right. You go too far. You border on treason, Barons. I advise you to choose your words carefully," he growled, his icy blue eyes burning holes in Baron Stuart.

Baron Stuart was the first to flinch. Realizing the situation was starting to get too intense, he backed away, crossing over to the fireplace and pacing there as he spoke in a calm tone. "Yes…let's stick to the facts. Clearly you've forgotten the words of your ancestor, the First Prince, Lord Vael. You're no longer the man of the people you claimed to be when you took the crown. It's funny you should mention treason, too; during your reign, we've had more nobility accused of treasonous deeds, more of them executed than ever before. You made marriage deals without the input of your advisory council. And let's not get started on our trade partners. Kirkwall used to be our biggest ally, and now look! I don't remember the last time I saw any shipments bearing their sigil. It's abundantly clear that something is very wrong in Starkhaven."

Baron MacNair glared at Gavin while Stuart spoke. As he concluded, he walked over to his friend, grabbing his arm and pulling him towards the study door. "Let it be known now that the people are  _angry_ , Your Highness. We are simply their voice. Come on, Stuart. Let's go," he said as he shoved Stuart out of the door.

Aidan could only stand there, shell-shocked, as he watched the men go nearly as suddenly as they had come. He had no chance to explain that Viscount Dumar had cancelled significant portions of the trade treaties, that the marriage between Tantervale and Starkhaven provided security for Starkhaven ships that traveled on the Minanter, or even that fully half of the nobility that had been executed in the past three years had entangled themselves in the seemingly-fizzled plot of a scorned noble in Kirkwall. He could only face Gavin, who simply stared at his father.

Gavin folded his arms across his chest. "I think we need to talk,  _Your Highness_. It seems there are some things that I need to be brought up to speed on, don't you think," he said coldly.

Aidan let out a sigh that was as much one of relief as it was of resignation. "Very well…but none of what I say leaves this study, is that clear? The safety of us all hangs in the balance."

Gavin nodded once as he pursed his lips. "Clear as glass. Start talking."

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

**_Later that evening:_ **

"So I think we shook him up good, gentlemen," Baron MacNair said proudly as he raised his tankard of ale in a toast. The others at the table—a mixture of fellow Barons and a couple of up-and-coming merchants—clanked their tankards together and drank cheerfully.

One of the merchants leaned into the table, keeping his voice as low as possible. "What did he say about his boy? Where is Sebastian?"

"He wouldn't say. Still maintains that Robbie MacSwain did it," Baron Stuart spat.

"Well I guess we're just going to have to go with plan B, then. Renly still has the Flint Company on standby," Baron Treadgold grumbled. When he had been passed over for Lord Heatherton's title in favor of a no-name upstart from the Guild District, bitterness drove the aging Baron to seek out other unhappy nobles, eventually leading him to befriend the younger men around him, as well as the late Lord Ferguson… _and Renly Harimann_.

Stuart rolled his eyes. "What good is it to order a hit on the boy when we don't know where he is?"

"Where would the Prince have sent him after Val Royeaux? It's a damned shame the Flint couldn't get the job done there. So close…we were  _so_  close," Treadgold muttered as he shook his head.

A hooded figure approached the table, taking a seat and clearing his throat. "Excuse me…gentlemen? Did you know that Denerim holds an annual archery tournament?"

"No. Who cares?" Treadgold snapped.

"This year's contest was won by a young man with incredible skill…and a very unique accent. In fact, it's one you share with him."

"So what? An archer from Starkhaven…big deal. They practically grow on trees around here," MacNair groused.

"Hey…wait a minute…lemme handle this," one of the merchants hissed in his ear before addressing the hooded man directly. "What was the winner's name? Do you recall?"

The black leather hood bobbed up and down slowly. "Of course. The winner was none other than one Sebastian Vael of the Denerim Chantry. Remarkable performance…nearly  _perfect_ , actually."

The men at the table all exchanged nervous glances. Baron Stuart gave the stranger a skeptical glare. "Who are you? Why are you here?

The man, whose eyes were hidden, spoke quickly. "That's not important. Does that information please you?"

"Perhaps," Baron Treadgold offered.

"Then my job here is finished," the stranger replied coldly. "Enjoy your drinks, gentlemen…next round's on me. Good evening." With that, he got up and left, disappearing into the crowd.

Baron MacNair watched the man leave, leaning in as soon as he was no longer visible. "Can you believe that? What're the chances? Should we trust this information?"

Baron Treadgold huddled over his tankard of ale. "I'll pass it on to Renly. What he does with it, I don't want to know—and neither do any of you. As angry as we are with Prince Vael, gentlemen, we cannot lose our heads over this. All I can say is that we are in  _deep_ …the less we know about any specific threats sent against Sebastian or any of the other Vaels, the better. Need I remind you that Renly didn't think twice about throwing Willem to the wolves?"

MacNair furrowed his brows. "What do you mean, any of the  _other Vaels_? I thought we were only going to kidnap Sebastian. What you and Stuart speak of—"

"This is exactly what I'm talking about, MacNair. You  _don't_  want to know. Trust me. We'll let Renly get his hands dirty."

"That's why you refuse to tell us his last name," Stuart said softly. "You're trying to protect us, aren't you?"

"There has to be some nobility left at the end of the day, that's all I can say. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a letter to draft."

"May the Maker guide your hand, Treadgold… _if_  this is his will," MacNair muttered as he took a long drink. As Baron Treadgold left, he couldn't help the sinking feeling that nestled in the pit of his stomach.  _I only got involved because I wanted to shake up Prince Vael…to make him realize he could be a better ruler…now we speak in hushed tones about unspeakable wickedness…what have I gotten myself into?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are going to start ramping up here for Sebastian in Denerim. I've restructured Act II a bit as a result. As always, thank you for continuing to encourage me with your readership, comments, favorites, follows, and rec's. It really does encourage me to continue!


	21. Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian has to substitute for a sick Brother. What he hears from one mysterious confessor shakes him to his very core. News of the emerging Blight reaches Starkhaven, and Aidan's hand is forced.

**_Denerim, six months later:_ **

Grand Cleric Lynne sat at her desk, pinching the bridge of her nose as she squeezed her eyes shut, wincing from the sudden headache that had struck when Mother Perpetua delivered her… _unfortunate_  news. "Are you certain there's nobody else available," she grumbled.

"No, Grand Cleric," Mother Perpetua replied softly. "But I really do think he'll do a fine job…he's really been good about spending more time on his reflections. There's something different about him. He seems more peaceful these days. Perhaps hearing the troubles of others will put his own into perspective."

 _I can't deny that he has been more attentive during services, but I also can't shake the feeling that it's just for show._ Lynne let out a sharp huff and threw up her hands in exasperation. "Fine. Do what you think is best. But if I hear one complaint—"

"You won't, Grand Cleric. I'll make sure of it," Perpetua replied brightly as she flashed a brief smile. She rose from her chair, rushing out of the Grand Cleric's office. She made her way down the stairs to the nave, walking quickly until she approached Sebastian from behind, tapping him gently on the shoulder. "Sebastian, what are your assigned duties for today," she whispered, not wanting to interrupt the smattering of worshippers around them.

The archer finished his prayer with a few soundless words before opening his eyes. He looked up at Mother Perpetua and got up from the kneeler attached to the pew he was in, sitting back on the oak surface. "Well, I just finished my morning reflections. Now I'm going to plant those new saplings that were delivered yesterday. After that, I had thought to do some work in the archives."  _And then after dark I'm sneaking out to go see my friend Shoshanna, but Perpetua doesn't need to know that, now does she?_

Mother Perpetua sat beside him, wringing her small hands as she spoke. "Well…Brother Marcus is ill and has taken to quarters. Unfortunately, he's not the only one who has come down with a stomach bug in the past couple of days. I'm running out of people to man the confessionals. I know you're not fully invested, but surely you've stepped in on occasions like this before? Could you possibly put off your planting until tomorrow and sit in the booth today?"

Sebastian nodded, giving the Mother a thin smile.  _No, I haven't taken confessions before, but I'm always willing to help._ "Of course. When do you need me?"

"As soon as possible, actually. The booths are currently empty. It'll just be you and me today, I'm afraid."

"Not a problem," Sebastian replied as he got up, stretching languidly in the process. He felt the tightness in his thighs and biceps, the result of yesterday's exertions with a cute blonde.  _Three whole months since I last had a girl in my shed…no wonder I hurt. I didn't think it had been that long. Maybe there is something to this whole life-of-contemplation stuff after all._  Yawning as discreetly as possible, he followed Mother Perpetua.

_A hooded figure, several rows back, watched intently as Sebastian was interrupted by the petite brunette Mother and then walked away, following her._

As they walked, she spoke in hushed tones about how proud she was of his recent show of devotion to his calling, how refreshing it was to not hear so many nasty things being said about him. By the time they reached the confessional booths, Sebastian felt horrible—and it had nothing to do with the stomach bug going around.

_Stalking him with his eyes only—never moving his head—the hooded man noted that Sebastian went towards the bank of confessional booths._

Sebastian hesitated briefly before he entered the confessional booth, shutting the paneled door slowly behind him.  _Why do I feel guilty about the fact that I'm going to be hearing others' confessions? I'm certainly familiar enough with the concept of sin…and I've given confession enough to basically know what to say…here we go._ The latch clicked sharply, the sudden sound of it in the stock-still air rather startling. He lit the lone taper candle in the wall sconce and sat gingerly on the polished wooden bench.

_The mysterious man watched Sebastian enter the center confessional booth, and then chose to get up himself, keeping his hood on and head down as he tailed the young man._

Moments later, the curtain on the confessor's side of Sebastian's booth slid open and a bulky figure entered, face obscured by a heavy hood. The curtain rings rattled against the rod passing through them as the heavy red velvet drape closed again. The wooden bench creaked when the man sat and hunched forward, propping his elbows on his knees as he folded his hands in prayer.

"Brother, forgive me, for I have sinned," the man grumbled in a familiar accent.  _What's someone from Starkhaven doing here, giving his confession?_

"Relax, my son," Sebastian replied smoothly. "The Maker will afford you complete absolution if you make a full confession. What is troubling your soul?"

The shadowy confessor let out a huff. "Well, Brother…I committed the heinous sin of murder."

Sebastian swallowed thickly and tugged at the neckline of his robe. If it were a normal Fereldan-accented voice making such statements, he wouldn't even flinch.  _This place is rather savage._ But it wasn't, and knowing that a  _murderer from Starkhaven_  sat next to him—a flimsy wooden panel the only separation between him and almost certain doom—had Sebastian so nervous he could have sworn the confessor could hear his heart pounding in his throat.  _What a fine day for me to choose to not strap on my boot dagger. Dammit!_

He controlled his nerves enough to continue. "As I said, full confession will win you absolution. What motivated such a deed?"

"Jealousy, Brother. Pure jealousy," the confessor muttered.

"Ahh…so female troubles, then, I take it?"

The faceless voice continued, his words laced with bitterness. "Indeed…the lass was  _mine_ —she was betrothed to  _me_ —and someone tried to step in and take her away. So I showed her…I killed her for her sinful nature, Brother."

Sebastian nodded to himself as he recalled what he had been told when he gave confession. "Jealousy is perhaps the most sinister and pervasive of all sins…it is said that jealousy is the base of all—"

The stealthed man interrupted Sebastian. "You should have seen her, Brother. She was beautiful, and I had been asking after her for  _years_  before she finally accepted my proposal. She had long, straight, black hair and the prettiest grey eyes…like a frosty winter sky. And her lips—oh those lips—I still remember the way they looked…the way they felt when they were under mine, when they were roaming wildly across my flesh, when they wrapped around my  _cock_  as she took me in. We made love on the night she accepted my proposal for  _hours_. The  _boy_  who tried to steal her from me never did that for her, never gave her such pleasure. She came to me, desperate to be  _fucked_  because he simply wouldn't touch her. What kind of red-blooded male could deny such a carnal creature as her?"

Sebastian's mind swam with a million thoughts, and he found himself too paralyzed by the shock of what he was hearing to even formulate so much as a grunt in reply. The figure chuckled lightly at his silence and continued, his words cold and calculated.

"But I digress. Before we knew it, she was pregnant and I pushed for her to marry me right away. Turns out, the baby might not have even been mine—the slut had been sleeping with the other guy too! Anyway, he found out about the pregnancy and came up with some crazy plan to run away…and the stupid lass fell for it hook, line, and sinker."

The man paused, and Sebastian—glancing sideways—could see through the perforated screen that he was clutching desperately at the sides of his hood. "When she told me that she was leaving me for him…I just  _snapped_. I shoved her onto the floor, wrapped my hands around that pretty little neck of hers, and I  _squeezed_ ," he said through gritted teeth. "She gasped for breath and begged me to stop, and I just… _squeezed_. She tried to pull my hands away, tried clawing at my eyes, and I  _squeezed_. Even as her lips turned blue and those pretty grey eyes rolled into the back of her head I still  _squeezed_. It wasn't until she went totally limp that I finally let her go."

Sebastian's shallow breaths were catching in his throat now, and he was nearly at the point of hyperventilation as fat, hot tears spilled down his cheeks, snaking past his gaping mouth. But he couldn't speak, couldn't move, couldn't even glance sideways to get a better look at the hooded figure that was now staring right into the screen that separated them as if it wasn't even there.

The man started to speak again, the tone seething with barely-restrained anger now. "And then I dragged her body to the bridge by my house and I dumped _Colleen_ in the Minanter, _Sebastian_." He let out a nervous laugh before resuming his sadistic snarl. "It's funny—I wasn't  _looking_  for you when I got to Denerim. I just happened to see you in here yesterday during services. When I saw you here… _safe_ … _happy_ …I couldn't let it go. So here I am. Where's my absolution? You got my full confession."

Sebastian buried his fingers in his hair as he uttered a strangled growl. He straightened up and slammed a fist against the screen. "There is no absolution for you,  _demon_. Not from my lips, anyway. Not today, not  _ever_. Were we not in the Chantry you'd already be  _dead_ , Robbie," he hissed.

Robbie planted a hand on each side of the screen, coming face to face with Sebastian, his eyes flashing with anger. "So the penitent little Sebastian lied to me," he mocked. "I'm can't say I'm surprised. I didn't come for your—or anybody's—forgiveness. I came because I wanted to make sure you knew  _exactly_  what happened in those last moments …so the image that haunts me every night poisons your dreams as well. When I dumped her body, I knew you'd be waiting for her on the riverbank, to run away to your little happily-ever-after fantasy. I hoped she would float right by your stupid face and you would see what your selfishness had done."

He paused slightly, backing away from the screen and shaking his head. "You sure showed your true colors, by the way, when you showed up at the tavern the very next day, drinking like she never meant a fucking  _thing_  to you! But she meant something to  _me_ , Sebastian. She was my  _world_. And  _you_  destroyed it, so I'm going to destroy  _yours_ , even if it takes my dying breath to do it. Consider that your  _only_  warning, Vael."

With that, the man rose abruptly and whipped the heavy drape open, stalking out as his final words hit Sebastian like a hammer. The stunned archer came to his senses moments too late; by the time he scrambled out of the confessional booth to confront him, the dark figure was nowhere to be found in the nave. Sebastian ran to the double doors of the Chantry, hoping that he had gone that way, but knowing that he could just as well have fled into the gardens; the confessional booths were positioned near-equally between the two exits.

Sticking his head out of one of the doors, he hissed to catch the attention of one of the Templars guarding the door. " _Hey_. Anyone just come rushing out of here, wearing a hood?"

The knight shook his head. "No, Brother Sebastian. Nobody's been through these doors for a half-hour, at least."

Sebastian muttered a curse as he withdrew back into the building, heart racing as he spun around and ran as fast as he could to the rear of the nave, to the ornate door that led out to the gardens. He scrambled out of the door and ran along the pea-graveled path, shielding his eyes from the bright sunlight as he scanned the lush greenery for any sign of the man. When he reached the stone statue of Andraste overlooking the rose bushes at the center of the conservatory, however, Sebastian realized that he had simply hesitated too long. Rob MacSwain had evaded him. Worse yet…Rob MacSwain knew exactly where he was.  _If he knows where I am…how long until others know I'm here? Maker's breath…_ Sebastian backed into the statue of Andraste with a heavy thud, sliding down to the ground. As soon as his rear hit the fine gravel, Sebastian crumpled into a shuddering, sobbing mass.

_When will it stop? When will I be able to live my life without constantly having to keep one eye open, without always having to look over my shoulder? I like it here in Denerim…I don't want to have to leave. But I know that if Robbie knows where I am…whoever else is looking to harm me or my family surely won't be far behind. Unless I get to Robbie before he can tell others, that is. Maker…I know what I'm contemplating is a sin, but the man is a murderer and would kill me or worse, hurt my family. Please, guide my hand as I do the only thing I feel I can do…_

Several long minutes later, Sebastian finally got up, wiping his eyes and nose roughly on his sleeve before going back into the Chantry. He went in the side entrance, straight into the dormitories, shuffling slowly until he reached his own room. Taking a deep breath, he grabbed a piece of paper and penned a letter to the one person he knew would come to his aid… _quickly_. After handing the folded missive to the Chantry's messenger, Sebastian made his way to the Templars' training grounds, where he knew Alistair would still be. Sure enough, his friend was sparring with another recruit, in full armor with live blades. Alistair blocked his opponent's overhand strike, quickly hitting the recruit with a shield bash to the body, using the momentum from that strike to spin around and flank the recruit while he was still stunned. Alistair struck him with the flat of his blade and the recruit slumped, defeated. Alistair sheathed his sword, slung his shield over his back, and removed his helm. Grinning, he extended a hand to the other recruit, who took it begrudgingly. As the blonde turned towards the gate of the training ring, he spotted Sebastian and rushed over.

"Sebastian! What are you doing here?" He paused and noticed Sebastian's unusually pale skin and red, puffy eyes. "Are you alright? You look like you've been…crying."

"Hurry up and get out of your plate. We need to talk."

"Oookaaayyyy…consider it done. I'll be right back," Alistair muttered soberly as his mind started to swirl with all the possible scenarios that might cause Sebastian to act so strangely.  _None_  ended well. He walked into the barracks, finding his storage locker. Fingers unbuckled straps automatically, and a few moments later, Alistair was putting the last piece of his plate armor in the cabinet. He put on his lighter, more comfortable splintmail—he felt rather naked whenever he wasn't wearing some sort of armor—and rushed back to where Sebastian still stood, hair disheveled as he chewed frantically on his thumb.

"Took you long enough," the archer growled as he spun and started to walk away. Behind him, Alistair was looking at his friend curiously as he trotted to catch up.

"What happened, Sebastian? I can tell that it's not good."

"He's here," Sebastian grunted.

" _Who's_  here?"

Sebastian stopped and spun around, his blue eyes boring into Alistair's. "The man that killed Colleen," he hissed. "Came in to my confessional booth and told me  _everything_. Then the fucking bastard had the audacity to ask for absolution! Anyway…he said that he was going to destroy me…my family. I can't let that happen, Alistair."

Alistair swallowed hard.  _Maker's breath…if we catch this guy, perhaps Sebastian could finally go home._ "What do you need me to do?"

"We need to sneak out and find him. I'm…I have to make sure he doesn't get the chance to tell anybody that I'm here," Sebastian said nervously.

Alistair folded his arms across his chest, raising an eyebrow. "You're going to kill him, aren't you?"

Sebastian looked down at the ground, a guilty look plastered on his face as he ran a hand through his hair. "If you don't want to be a part—"

"This is the man who basically took everything from you. I understand why you want to…I can't imagine I'd feel much differently were I in your shoes," Alistair replied softly. "You have my support."

Sebastian let out a huge sigh of relief and allowed himself a thin smile. "Thank you…just  _thank you_. You have no idea…I'll find a way to repay your loyalty, I swear it…"

Alistair placed a hand on Sebastian's shoulder. "Just promise me that you'll let yourself find peace should you succeed. Live your life in honor of her," he said solemnly.

Sebastian nodded. "I will. I'm finding that Chantry life isn't so bad. I still am quite fond of drinking, but I'm not so tempted by the flesh as I once was. Plus, I'm still going to visit Shoshanna every week. Just spending time with her, giving her a reprieve from her life—"

"I maintain that your willingness to do that—to pay for it but not use her like that—is one of the more kind things I've ever seen."

Sebastian smiled warmly. "Thanks…it honestly makes me feel really good that I can do that for her. I had a friend like her back in Starkhaven, and I missed that kind of connection. I mean, you and I are great friends, but friendship with a woman is different. I'd give my left arm to see Madeline again…I miss her terribly. But Shoshanna's proving to be an amazing woman, very sweet."

"Sounds like you're rather smitten," Alistair teased.

Sebastian shook his head, his eyes wide, hands up in a surrendering gesture. "No. No, I'm not. I just enjoy being around a woman that is so strong despite what the Maker has given her to deal with. I  _admire_  her, yes, but I don't…"

"Relax. I was only teasing," Alistair muttered. He paused, furrowing his brows as he thought about what was yet to come. "Sebastian…if we don't, uh,  _succeed_ …what will happen?"

"I'll probably be reassigned. If he gets out of Denerim, it's only a matter of time before others find out I'm here as well," Sebastian mumbled as he shrugged his shoulders. "I've already notified certain interested parties that he was here."

Alistair shook his head adamantly. "I don't want that to happen."

"Me either. I rather enjoy being here. I've come to regard Ferelden as a second home. Look, I need to go prepare—I need to ask for guidance. I'll meet you at the usual spot," Sebastian said somberly as he started to walk away.

"Right. Wishing well. Got it!" Alistair said brightly, flashing his friend a wide grin in an effort to help him relax.  _I don't know what that guy told Sebastian…all I know is that we cannot fail. Sebastian needs this closure...he's been carrying the burden of this man's crime for far too long._

**_Starkhaven:_ **

Aidan Vael gestured for his sons to sit, brows furrowed as he stared at a random spot on the ornate rug covering the floor of his study. "Corbinian…Seneschal…I'm sure you're wondering why I called both of you."

Corbinian furrowed his brows before taking his seat.  _Does he not ever call Gavin by his name anymore? Is it purely business?_ "Aye, Father. I don't recall the last time the three of us gathered like this. Is everything alright?"

Aidan let out a huff and leaned way back, shrugging his shoulders and resting his hands on his belly. "Well, I'm not sure…Captain Ryon is on his way with some news from his contacts in Denerim. As you both now know the true nature of Sebastian's situation, I figured there was no point in keeping the two of you in the dark any longer. Whatever he has to say, the four of us will discuss it together and come up with a plan."

"In other words, we're your new advisory council…aren't we? You're bypassing the Assembly, tightening your circle. That confrontation with the Barons seems to have shaken you more than you've let on," Gavin said sharply.

Aidan shot forward, pointed at Gavin, and wagged his finger. " _Balderdash_! I'm simply finding there are few amongst the nobility that I would dream of trusting with this sort of information.  _None_ , actually," he muttered. "For day-to-day dealings—treaties, trade—I have no problem going to the Assembly. For this? My  _family's_  safety? No. That stays between us."

Corbinian shot his brother a scowl before facing Aidan with a diplomatic smile. "That's understandable, Father, and I thank you for including us. It is our wish that Sebastian—and all of the Vaels—are kept safe, no matter the cost."

"I agree, Corbinian," Gavin said with a pointed glare.

A knock on the door preceded Captain Ryon's entry. His armor rattled as he approached, joints in the massive plate armor squeaking slightly as he came to a stop and bowed to his sovereign.

"Ryon. Thank goodness," Aidan muttered, relieved that the Captain's arrival put a stop to his sons' tension.  _When did my boys stop getting along? Is Corbinian upset that Gavin has my ear more often now?_ "As you can see, I've decided that Corbinian and the Seneschal will be included in our handling of Sebastian's situation from now on. They have a right to know what is going on with their brother."

"It's about time," Ryon muttered. "Anyway…the news I'm getting out of Denerim is troubling, to say the least."

Corbinian rolled his eyes. "Let me guess, Sebastian's up to his old tricks?"

"No. Not at all, actually. According to the last progress report I got, he's really been making strides as of late—more time in prayer, engaging the Mothers in theological discussions, that sort of thing," Aidan said with a pleased smile.  _Took long enough, but it seems like life in the Chantry is finally having the intended effect._

Ryon cleared his throat. "I, uh, wouldn't make a special trip just for a progress report. The news I have is of a far larger concern. The Ferelden Grey Wardens are claiming that a Blight is emerging down in the Korcari Wilds."

"This is bad…this is very bad," Aidan muttered. "The timing couldn't be worse. Just as we get a break, just as we confirm Rob MacSwain is in Denerim  _as we speak_ …this."

Gavin furrowed his brows and looked at Ryon. "I don't understand. What's so bad about a Blight?"

Ryon pulled one of the chairs by the fireplace over and sat down. "A Blight means that Ferelden—maybe even all of Thedas—could be overrun by darkspawn. Thousands could die. The land, water… _everything_  could be contaminated for generations. Ferelden could become a wasteland if this is true…and your little brother is right in the thick of it."

Corbinian chewed on his lower lip as he pondered Captain Ryon's report. "Do you think it's true, what the Ferelden Grey Wardens are saying?"

"I have no reason to doubt the Grey Wardens."

Gavin smiled. "Well that settles it, doesn't it? We bring Sebastian home, just like we've planned."

Ryon shook his head slowly. "It's not that simple, Seneschal. There is still a  _considerable_  amount of unrest here. We  _need_  to keep trying to corral Robbie MacSwain first. Once we get a public confession direct from his mouth, I think that will do much to calm the bluebloods.  _You've_  seen first hand how the nobles are still upset about Sebastian being in hiding. Add to that the fact that Colleen's lineage is now rather common knowledge…well, it's no wonder the nobility seem to have this ridiculous notion that the Prince has it out for them. They refuse to believe that Brennen confessed on his boy's behalf…it's like no matter what we do, it ends up looking even  _more_  like we're trying to hide something," he grumbled as he threw up his hands in frustration.

Gavin pursed his lips as he scratched at his chin. "But didn't King Cailan say that he can't continue to keep sparing the extra guardsmen required to keep pursuing Robbie? I think it's inevitable that we're going to lose his trail now…just as Cailan's men learn where he is, Robbie's on the run again. Let's just cut the bull and bring Sebby home," he pleaded. "It's long past time to do so. Surely if the people see how he's changed, they'll realize that he isn't guilty. Surely we can guard him just as well here as the Chantry can with their Seekers?"

Ryon gave Gavin a harsh look that caused the young Seneschal to question his last statement.  _…Or perhaps not, then._

Aidan stood and looked out the window—spotting the steeple of the Chantry—and turned back to his sons and the captain. "We're not bringing him home. Not  _yet_. Even if we were to catch Robbie MacSwain  _tomorrow_ , the residual anger will take some time to dissipate…it could be  _years_  before things settle down, to where enough people forget about Sebastian's involvement— _IF_  we even catch that rat bastard of Brennen's, that is," he muttered, returning to his seat, all business. "I'm sorry, but I firmly believe that sending him elsewhere is the best, most prudent course of action right now. I was thinking of sending him to Ansburg. I would feel a bit more inclined to let people go visit him there. Denerim is simply too far, too dangerous."

"Send him to Kirkwall," Corbinian said matter-of-factly.

Gavin grabbed his brother's arm. "I beg your pardon? Send him right into the  _viper's nest_? Do you have any idea…if Harimann went to services and saw him…Sebastian would be dead within his first month there, I'm sure of it," he hissed.

Corbinian yanked his arm out of Gavin's grip, glaring at him. "Not if we request Seeker Richard to be his guardian again. Besides, the right security detail could also run surveillance on Harimann. He'd never suspect that we'd send Sebastian right into his arms. It's  _literally_  the last place he'd think to look for him."

Aidan let out a pleased  _hmph_. "You make a good point—"

Gavin's mouth dropped open as he stared at his father. "Surely you  _cannot_  be seriously considering this, Your Highness."  _You would send your own son to his certain death?_

Aidan returned his son's gaze, blue eyes pleading for understanding. "Seneschal,  _think_  about it. Renly has never met Sebastian…I seriously doubt he knows what he looks like. Lady Johane hasn't seen him since he was eleven. It's been so long since  _I've_  seen him that I'm not even sure I'd recognize him, and he's my own  _son_."

"Looks just like Grandda," Gavin muttered as he bit his lower lip and looked down.  _I can't believe it's been four years since I last saw him…_

Corbinian looked at the other three men. "So it's settled then. We ask the Divine to have Sebastian reassigned to Kirkwall."

Aidan and Ryon nodded in agreement. Gavin fumed for a brief moment, scowling as he chewed on his thumbnail. "Fine. Send Sebastian to Kirkwall. But don't look to me for help consoling Gran and Mother when your foolishness gets him  _killed_ ," he grumbled as he waved off the others, storming out of his father's study.

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

**_Denerim, later that night:_ **

"Blasted damnation!" Sebastian spat as he slammed a fist against the stone wall surrounding the Denerim Chantry. He stood there, fist plastered to rock, as he chewed on his lip and shook his head, taking several deep breaths to calm himself. "I'm sorry, I really thought we would find him at the tavern tonight," he muttered.  _I just want this to all be over…but I can't lose focus, not now._

Alistair placed a hand on Sebastian's shoulder. "Hey…no worries. We'll just have to keep sneaking out and enjoying ourselves. Oh  _darn_ ," he said sarcastically.

Sebastian gave his friend a pained look. "Don't joke…we're going to have to do that if we have any hope of catching Robbie before he skips town."

"Fine by me. I might even get some tolerance while we're at it. Imagine—one whole tankard of ale without stumbling over my own feet afterward. It's my life's goal," Alistair said wistfully, giggling softly when Sebastian gave him a cross look. "Come on, Sebastian. This situation is so dire…a little bit of laughter helps to take the edge off."

"You're right," Sebastian pretended to grumble before returning a wry smile. "What would I do without my widdle Alibear?"

Alistair smiled and shook his head. "Clearly, your command of the common tongue would exceed that of a toddler's. Come on, let's just call it a night."

Sebastian nodded and they snuck into the gardens, entering the dormitories through the side door. Pausing as Alistair opened his door, Sebastian muttered a quick  _Thanks_.

Alistair gave him a quizzical look. "For what?"

"Giving me a  _reason_  to talk like a toddler. Good night," Sebastian whispered as he continued down to his quarters.


	22. Payback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tournament, a Warden, a choice, a duel. Warning for blood and gore.

**_Denerim, two weeks later:_ **

_I can’t believe I’m doing this. I’m going to get caught somehow. Someone must know I’ve come. But I can’t just stand idly by while Stuart and Treadgold plan such wickedness against the Vaels. I’ll just do this and get right back on this boat._

Baron Ewan MacNair took a deep breath as he descended along the gangway, furrowing his brows when he set foot on the Denerim docks. _I should have done this six months ago, when I got that first feeling that I was getting into more than I wanted._ He pulled up the hood of his cloak to protect his ears against the brisk morning breeze and started walking. Ewan had gotten about ten feet before he realized that it had been way too long since he was last in Denerim. Discreetly asking a dockworker for directions, he set out with a singular purpose—to warn Sebastian Vael that his location was known to those who might do him harm.

_I only wanted to shake up Prince Vael—to let him know there is more he could be doing to care for his people. Last month—when Stuart said we should stage a coup—was the last straw. I will not let Starkhaven collapse into civil war for whatever new reasons they keep making up. First it was to capture Sebastian the murderer, then economics, now they charge that Corbinian isn’t Aidan’s. They claim his rule would allow Ansburg to step in and take control of the principality, which is pure bullshit. And this mysterious Renly fellow? I think he’s fueling this whole damned mess, but his involvement doesn’t make any sense either. All I know is that whoever—whatever is behind all of this must be purely evil._

Before he knew it, MacNair stood outside the stone walls of the Chantry. Two Templars guarded the front doors. Taking a deep breath to steel his nerves, Ewan gave the guards a polite nod and entered the house of worship. He took off his hood and approached a young Mother, clearing his throat to get her attention.

“Yes? May I help you, child?” Mother Perpetua asked sweetly.

Ewan shuffled nervously. “I’m looking for Brother Sebastian Vael. Is he still here?” His voice cracked, betraying him.

Mother Perpetua’s eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly as she sized up the man. “Certainly. Let me go fetch him for you,” she said primly, with a thin smile and nod.

MacNair let out a huff. _Well that was simple enough. I ought to be out of here in five minutes._

The Mother returned with a man wearing all black—leather pants, linen shirt, knee-high boots. The laced neckline was open, and Ewan could see the faintest hint of a scar on the man’s chest. She smiled politely at the man, gesturing towards Ewan before taking her leave.

The man greeted him with a slight bow. “I understand you are looking for Brother Vael. Come, let me take you to him.”

They walked out of the Chantry, and the man gave a slight nod to the two Templars posted on either side of the door. As he steered Ewan to the left, behind the stone wall, the Templars followed. Ewan looked at the man, bewildered; if he was a fellow clergyman, he certainly didn’t look the part. He had shoulder length brown hair, wide gray-green eyes…and tanned, rough hands that looked like they regularly wielded a weapon. _Shit. This is Vael’s damned bodyguard, isn’t it? I’ve walked right into a trap…I’m a dead man._ The man stopped by the well, and the Templars turned their backs to them, shielding the well from open view.

In a flash, Ewan was shoved over the open well, feet swept into the air, a balled fist in the cloth covering his chest the only thing keeping him from falling into the abyss.

The man’s eyes narrowed. “Who sent you?” He snarled.

“Huh? I didn’t--“

“Don’t play coy with me. Playing coy is for maids when they’re dying to get fucked but don’t want anybody to know it. Tell me who sent you, why you are here, and _don’t_ lie. If I don’t like your answers, you’re taking a swim,” the man said as he pushed against Ewan’s chest, sending him ever-closer to the tipping point.

Ewan’s heart leapt up into his throat, and the sound of rushing blood filled his ears, nearly excluding all else. “My name is Baron Ewan MacNair—from Starkhaven. I’m here to warn Sebastian that people know where he is.”

The man pulled him up slightly and pursed his lips. “I recognize you. I recall you being in the tavern six months ago. You work with Baron Treadgold. Why should I believe you?”

Ewan’s jaw dropped. “That was YOU? You are his bodyguard, are you not? Why would you do such a thing?”

The man gave him a wicked smile. “I wanted to lure those who would harm Sebastian and the rest of the Vaels out of the woodwork so I could pick them off. Planting Sebastian’s whereabouts in your little group worked nicely, wouldn’t you say?” The man pretended to ease his grip on Ewan’s shirt a little and he dropped, sending the young Baron into a mindless panic.

“WAIT!” Ewan hissed. “I only got involved with them because I wanted to get Prince Vael’s attention. I thought by getting in his face like I did, he might realize he needed to pay a bit more attention to affairs at home. But as of late, the others have been talking of kidnapping, of murder. I want no part of that…I _never_ wanted any part of that. Please, you _must_ believe me.”

The man scanned Ewan’s person closely. “Seems you speak the truth, in part. You are no assassin. You’re not even _armed_. That’s mighty stupid of you, in a city like Denerim.”

Ewan was nearly hyperventilating now, eager to spill his secrets if the man would only let him up. “I know, I _know_. I left my dagger in my pack on _purpose_ —to demonstrate to Sebastian that I mean him no harm.”

The man considered what he heard, pulled Ewan from the well’s edge, and let him go. Ewan tugged at his shirt, straightening it and soothing over the spot on his chest where the hair had gotten twisted into the fabric.

The man grabbed at his upper arm and squeezed hard. “If you are serious about not doing the Vaels harm, you _will_ give me names.”

“Well…I think you already know Barons Stuart and Treadgold are the main conspirators. A couple of merchants are also involved. They’re purposely withholding their goods to make the trade situation more dire—to make the people more angry about the economy, but I’m not sure of their names…I only know that they are both wool traders. All are working with a man named Renly in Kirkwall. Nobody will tell me his last name, I’m sorry.”

“It’s Harimann.”

“Oh. Um, good to know?”

The man released his arm. “You seem like you have a _mostly_ good head on your shoulders, save for the running-around-unarmed bit. I will let you live—on one condition,” he growled.

Ewan gave the man a look of desperation. “ _Anything_. I don’t want what they’re plotting to happen. They’ll plunge Starkhaven into civil war. I’m not so stupid to not recognize that I’ve been on the wrong side of all this.”

The man leaned in, whispering. “Go to Prince Vael and tell him what you just told me. Then I want you to keep meeting with the others. Act the part—like nothing’s wrong. Go along with their plans. But after each meeting you _will_ debrief Prince Vael. We will be watching you, so you’d best do as I say.”

  1. Ewan glanced sideways. “Who shall I say sent me?”               



“Richard.” With that, Seeker Richard stepped aside and gestured for Ewan to leave. He scurried past the two Templar guards, and his feet simply couldn’t carry him back to the docks fast enough. _A chance to right these wrongs. Thank You, Maker. I will take this opportunity and do my best to prevent civil war._

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

**_That evening:_ **

“Alistair, my boy, come in,” Knight-Commander Glavin boomed as Alistair peeked into the door of his office.

Alistair walked in nervously, giving the aging Templar a stiff bow with criss-crossed arms. “You wanted to see me, Knight-Commander?”

Knight-Commander Glavin rose, crossing from behind his desk to grasp the young recruit by the upper arms. “Yes, yes, yes. I wanted to let you know that you are finally to take your Templar vows. We’re having a Tournament to honor the Grey Wardens’ return to Ferelden. You’ll be sworn the day afterward, when things settle down.”

 _Shit. I was still hoping to find a way to get out of taking my vows._ Alistair faked a smile. “When’s the Tournament?”

Glavin released his arms and sat back down. “Tomorrow. You ought to say goodbye to that lay brother friend of yours. You won’t have time to hang out with him after you’re sworn. And you definitely _cannot_ be caught sneaking out with him.”

Alistair pretended to be surprised. “What? I have _no_ idea--”

Glavin glared hard at him. “Cut the bullshit innocent act, Alistair. I’ve let it slide because when you’re out all night, the others can actually get some damned sleep,” he grumbled dismissively.

“ _Oh_ ,” Alistair replied softly. “May I participate in the Tournament, then?”

“No. You won’t be sworn yet,” Glavin muttered. He took notice of Alistair’s disappointment. “But don’t get down…be proud, boy. To be a Templar in service to the Divine is one of the greatest honors bestowed upon a man by the Maker. Now go on, do whatever it is you always manage to get up to instead of your assigned duties.”

Alistair blushed, bowed again towards the Knight-Commander, and left. When he opened the door, he was stunned to find Sebastian waiting there. “Sebastian! What are you doing here? Did your father finally give you permission to join the Order?”

Sebastian, who had been pacing, paused and casually raked a hand over his hair. “No, he hasn’t. I’m going to ask to participate in the Tournament tomorrow based on my status as two-time Champion of the Ferelden Archery Tournament. Anyway…I’ll catch up to you later, after I’m done here.”

“Good luck. I hope the Knight-Commander lets you compete,” Alistair muttered as he walked away with a dejected look on his face.

 _I wonder what that’s all about?_ Sebastian shook away the thought as he walked briskly through the Knight-Commander’s door. “Knight-Commander Glavin, I’d like to talk to you about the Tournament that is being held tomorrow.”

Glavin looked up, a bemused look on his face. “I suppose you would petition me for a spot?”

Sebastian tilted his head and arched an eyebrow. “H-How did you know?”

“You’ve helped my archers a great deal over the years, Sebastian. Thanks to your guidance, they are a far more fearsome unit now,” Glavin said brightly. “In fact, were your father’s orders not in the way, I’d likely have made you a Knight already. Such a pity, those skills not being put to good use. From purely a skill standpoint, I wouldn’t hesitate to let you compete. However…do you know the purpose of this Tournament?”

“We’re celebrating the Blessed name of Andraste, are we not,” Sebastian asked innocently.

Glavin nodded. “That…and the Grey Wardens will be in attendance. They say a Blight is coming…and they mean to recruit from our ranks,” he said, throwing up a hand in exasperation. “Sebastian, if you father won’t let you become a Templar, what makes you think he’d allow you to join the Grey Wardens? Seems to me there wouldn’t be much of a point in allowing you to compete.”

Sebastian gave the Knight-Commander a knowing smirk. “If I recall, they have the Right of Conscription, do they not? I seem to recall a Warden conscripting one of our City Guardsmen when I was a wee lad.”

Glavin leaned back in his chair, impressed. “You would allow yourself to be conscripted to get out from under your father’s thumb?” _‘Tis a pity the Templars don’t do the same…within reason._

“You just said my skills are languishing. If I can put them to good use—fighting darkspawn—then who is my father to hold me back? I’m twenty-one years old; certainly capable of making my own decisions regarding my future,” Sebastian replied smoothly.

Glavin smiled. _Clever boy. He’s found a way to potentially get out of taking his own vows._ “So you are. Very well…you shall compete tomorrow. I’ll see you then.”

Sebastian bowed deeply. “Thank you. Good evening, Ser.” He left the Knight-Commander’s office and made his way back to the dormitories. Recalling Alistair’s sad expression from earlier, Sebastian decided to stop by his room first to see what was wrong. _Perhaps knowing that we’ll both be competing, with escape from this place as the prize, will cheer him up._

A gentle rap on the door broke Alistair’s thoughts. “Come in,” he muttered.

“I’m in the Tournament,” Sebastian blurted, a grin on his face as he sat beside Alistair on his sparse bed.

“That’s…wonderful. Congratulations,” Alistair said flatly, scarcely looking at his friend.

Sebastian leaned down to catch Alistair’s eyes. “I mean, have you heard _why_ they’re having the Tournament?”

Alistair let out a frustrated huff. “All I know is that it’s to honor the Grey Wardens’ return to Ferelden…why?”

“Not _just_ to honor…Knight-Commander Glavin told me the Warden-Commander himself will be recruiting for the Wardens. Can you imagine? Service with the storied Grey? And _no_ vows of chastity, my friend.” _Cheer up, Alibear…we could serve side by side!_

Alistair gave Sebastian a grim look. “Well, good luck to you…I’ll be cheering you on from the stands.”

Sebastian was stunned. “You won’t be competing? Well, that explains your sour mood, I guess.”

Alistair shot up, pacing and gesturing wildly. “That’s not even the half of it. I was told that I can’t compete because I won’t be sworn yet. And guess what? I’m to take my vows the day _after_. How _convenient_. It’s pretty clear they don’t want me fighting…but a simple no would’ve sufficed,” Alistair said bitterly.

“They finally gave you a date? I was beginning to think they never would.” _Dammit. I can’t even begin to imagine how depressed he is right now._

Alistair paused and scratched at the back of his head. “Yeah…and you see how positively thrilled I am about it.”

“Hey…Shoshanna’s still willing…you only need ask,” Sebastian offered, holding his hands out in a surrendering gesture.

Alistair piqued an eyebrow. “Ehh…no. She seems sweet, but no. I’ll wait, thanks.”

“Fair enough,” Sebastian chuckled as he got up and put an arm around his friend’s shoulders. “I’m sorry they won’t let you compete, Alistair…and I know you don’t want to take your vows.”

Alistair slumped and shook his head. “It’s _not_ that I don’t have faith, Sebastian…it’s just that I don’t want to spend my life hunting mages. I don’t think it’s the best use of my skills. And I’m terribly upset that I don’t seem to be able to choose how to live my own life. Plus…all the other Templars seem to hate me.”

Sebastian smiled warmly and gave Alistair a gentle squeeze. “You _can_ be a bit much to handle at first. Your sense of humor…it isn’t for everybody. But you grow on people. Like a fungus,” he said with a wink and a smirk.

“I guess I just don’t feel much of a sense of brotherhood with them. Nothing like what _we_ have. And if you get whisked away to the Wardens…I won’t have anybody to sneak out and get drunk with,” Alistair pouted briefly before being unable to resist grinning at the memory of all their stolen nights at the Gnawed Noble.

“Don’t go assuming that I’m going to be recruited. Remember, the Warden-Commander is here to pick the best of the best.”

Alistair rolled his eyes. “You’re the best archer in Ferelden. They’d be foolish not to take you.”

“Well, I’m glad _you_ have such faith in my abilities, at least,” Sebastian mumbled as he started towards the door. “Anyway…I should make sure my equipment is ready. Goodnight, Alistair.”

“Goodnight, Sebastian,” Alistair whispered as his friend pulled the door shut.

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

**_The next day:_ **

Knight-Commander Glavin left his office, walking confidently through the halls of the Templar Keep until he reached the main hall. “Duncan, my good man. How wonderful to see you,” he said brightly, clasping his old friend’s hand and forearm in a welcome gesture. “You’re just in time! I’ve arranged for a Tournament in the name of Blessed Andraste herself in honor of the triumphant return of the mighty Grey Wardens to Ferelden.”

Duncan gave the Knight-Commander a deep bow. “I am greatly honored, Glavin. It almost makes me not want to pluck one of your very best from the Denerim Order. _Almost_ ,” he said with a wry smile.

Glavin waved off Duncan’s formality. “Nonsense. If you can find one of these louts worthy of service, I’m more than happy to hand him over. The security of Ferelden is paramount.” _If this is even really a Blight…_

“So this Tournament…I’ll be seeing all of your fighters then?”

“Of course. Come along, you can start your scouting now; the one-on-one matches are about to begin.”

Knight-Commander Glavin led Duncan to the arena, to the shaded seating reserved for the most important spectators. As Duncan entered the boxed-off area, he spotted King Cailan and Queen Anora, along with several Teryns and Banns from around Ferelden—Loghain Mac Tir, Eamon and Teagan Guerrin, Rendon Howe, and Bryce Cousland. He sat next to Cousland and hunkered over, wizened eyes scanning the warriors below with careful precision.

“You’re a Grey Warden, are you not?” Bryce Cousland asked surreptitiously.

“That I am,” Duncan replied with a nod.

“I’m Bryce Cousland…Teryn of Highever. If you’re looking for recruits, I have several warriors in my private militia whom you might find suitable. Feel free to come around,” he offered.

Duncan smiled. “Thank you, Teryn Cousland. The warm welcome that we have received since being allowed back in Ferelden never ceases to surprise me. I shall come by when I’m in the area next.”

Bryce returned the smile and both men resumed watching the tournament. Many fine fighters battled that day, and more than a couple stood out as having particularly refined skills. But Duncan hadn’t quite found what he was looking for. Unsatisfied, he scanned the area just outside of the arena—where the knights prepared for battle—and found himself watching a man who was far too old to be playing the part of squire to the other knights. And even though Duncan could not hear them, he could tell the knights were poking fun at the young man. Remarkably, he seemed to shake off the bullying well. During one of the matches, he noticed the young man had picked up a sword and was striking at a practice dummy. His suspicions were confirmed; the young man was no mere squire.

“That one…the blonde with the short hair. What’s his name?” Duncan asked as he leaned into Knight-Commander Glavin and pointed at the man.

Glavin’s eyebrows shot up. “Him? Oh, that’s just Alistair,” Glavin said dismissively.

Duncan’s eyes narrowed on Alistair. _Of course…I should’ve noticed the resemblance sooner._ “Will he be fighting later?”

Glavin shook his head adamantly. “Oh no. No, no, _no_. He’s not a full knight yet. Besides…he’s kind of a—well, let’s just say that he’s not exactly Grey Warden material, shall we?”

Duncan gave his friend a stern glance. “I thought you were going to let me see _all_ of your fighters, Glavin. I would see this young man fight along with the rest of them.”

Glavin chuckled nervously as he tried to dismiss Duncan’s request. “Now Duncan, honestly…he’s a prankster with an attitude problem. He keeps…poor company. He has enough skills, sure…but his character isn’t worthy of donning the azure and argent, that’s for sure.”

Duncan’s stern glance turned fierce as his jaw set. “Let _me_ be the judge of that. He _will_ fight. No ifs, ands, or buts about it.”

Glavin backed off; he knew his friend meant business. “As you wish, Duncan.” He rose and left, entering the preparation area for the day’s combatants. Finding Alistair—who was trying to see how many helms he could stack before they toppled over—Glavin cleared his throat.

“Alistair.” No response. “ _ALISTAIR_.”

Alistair shook himself back to the present, turning his back on the stacked armor pieces. “Oh…yes, Knight-Commander?” He gave a hasty bow.

Glavin frowned and shifted on his feet. “Today is your lucky day. One of the other knights has fallen ill.” He looked down, a slightly disgusted expression on his face. “I need _you_ to fight in his place. Are you…er… _prepared_? You’re up next.”

“Of course!” Alistair exclaimed, trying so very hard not to squeal with delight, as he crossed over to a chest in the corner. Flinging it open, he excitedly pulled out his armor and put it on. In a few minutes, Alistair stood before the Knight-Commander in full plate. He flipped down the visor of his helm, giving his enthusiastic “Ready!” a muffled, metallic quality.

Glavin rolled his eyes and let out a groan. “Come on then, Alistair. Let’s show people what you’re made of.”

Alistair did not win his first battle, nor his second. He fought well, but he just wasn’t as strong as the seasoned veterans that Knight-Commander Glavin chose to put him up against. But that didn’t matter to Duncan; he saw a young man who didn’t back down in the face of certain defeat. Every time Alistair flipped up his visor, Duncan could see the playful glint in his eyes; he genuinely enjoyed the thrill of fighting. Alistair accepted his defeats graciously, never grousing about his deliberately overmatched opponents. Duncan observed all this and smiled to himself.

“As you see, Duncan, the boy simply doesn’t have it in him,” Glavin said, pleased with Alistair’s defeats. “The archers are up next...and trust me, there’s one you’ll want to pay special attention to.”

Duncan snuffed. “We’ll see…I don’t typically recruit archers unless they are _exceptionally_ talented.”

“Sebastian is the two-time defending champion of the Ferelden Archery Tournament. Just watch,” Glavin said with a self-satisfied grin.

Sure enough, Sebastian outshone all other archers—literally and figuratively. He had polished his armor to such a high gleam that it was impossible to miss him. He shot skillfully, accurately, quickly; no other archer even came close to his performance.

Duncan leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “Impressive. Most impressive. I have a difficult decision, Glavin. I’m going to take a bit and think it over. I’d like to meet with you and the Grand Cleric after supper, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure, take your time,” Glavin replied cheerfully. “Let’s meet in the Grand Cleric’s office…it’s far more cozy than mine, I assure you.”

“Very well…see you in about an hour, then,” Duncan said cordially as he left the stands and headed for the Gnawed Noble. _I’ve got quite the decision to make…_

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

**_Later that night:_ **

True to his word, Duncan returned to the Chantry, right on time. He strolled into the Grand Cleric’s office, taking the glass of scotch that was handed to him. “Well, let’s get right down to it, then…Knight-Commander, Grand Cleric…I’ve made my decision. I will be taking _two_ recruits with me.”

Glavin was dumbfounded. “ _Two_? You simply can’t take two of my best, Duncan,” he spluttered. “My recruitment numbers are way down…what if we need to defend Denerim from maleficarum?”

Duncan put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Relax, Glavin…only one is yours. I’d like to take that young man, Alistair…the one you didn’t want fighting. I figure I’ll be doing you a favor, will I not,” he said with a light chuckle.

Knight-Commander Glavin spit out his mouthful of scotch. “Him? Do you mean to _kill_ darkspawn or just annoy them until they return to the Deep Roads of their own volition? And who, pray tell, is your other recruit? King Cailan’s court jester?”

Duncan looked at the Grand Cleric. “The other is the lay brother, Sebastian.”

Lynne folded her arms and shook her head sternly. “You can’t have both of them, Duncan.” _You would just happen to choose the two royals I’ve been charged with hiding? Does the Maker truly have it out for me, then?_

“Excuse me, Grand Cleric, but the Wardens retain the Right of Conscription,” Duncan said as he looked over the rim of his glass, punctuating his statement with a slow sip. “I _will_ use it if I have to.” __

Lynne’s eyes narrowed on the Warden-Commander. “If you must…take Alistair, but you simply _cannot_ have Sebastian. First of all, he’s of royal blood. Second, his father has a standing order that he is not to be assigned to any military regiment whatsoever. Third…he’s being reassigned to Kirkwall. I just got the letter from the Divine today. His father wants him out of Ferelden due to the rumors about the Blight. Feel free to challenge the Divine, though, Duncan…see how many recruits you can pluck from our Order then.”

Duncan sighed and put his glass on Lynne’s desk. “Very well. I will take only Alistair, and no other. You make a good point; we _were_ only just allowed to return to Ferelden. I cannot jeopardize our status. But I get the impression that these two young men are quite disliked here. Why?”

Glavin and Lynne started talking simultaneously, their litany of petty reasons growing louder and louder as they tried to outdo each other.

Duncan waved them off. “Enough— _enough_! Do you two see _any_ good in the youth that walk through those double doors?” He demanded, finally fed up with what he’d been witnessing during his visit.

Glavin gave Duncan a quizzical look. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m not here to recruit for skill alone. I’m recruiting for character,” Duncan replied smoothly.

Glavin and Lynne looked at each other and rolled their eyes.

Duncan folded his arms as he started to lecture the pair. “I’m serious. Both of these young men have an overwhelming desire to have purpose…duty. They act out here because they don’t have that. _I_ can provide it…for Alistair at least. He has an incredibly sharp sense of right and wrong, but all you see is a prankster…since when is that so bad? Did you see the joy in his eyes as he sparred today? It’s such a shame…young men and women come here to be shaped into fine individuals, to serve the Maker and spread his light. But people like you only see faults. When people are told repeatedly there is something wrong with them, it’s as good as handing them a vial of poison. I rather think I’m doing _Alistair_ a favor by taking him from this place,” he growled, a disdainful look on his face.

“Very well…if you wish to take Alistair, I’ll show you to his room,” Glavin said quietly as he led Duncan out of the Grand Cleric’s office. Lynne slumped into her chair and gnawed on her thumbnail as she mulled over Duncan’s harsh criticism.

Reaching Alistair’s room, Glavin rapped sharply on the door. When Alistair didn’t answer after a few moments, Glavin and Duncan entered his room, finding that the young man was nowhere to be found.

“Where is he?” Duncan asked, slightly alarmed. _It’s late…he should be here, preparing for bed._

“The Gnawed Noble,” Glavin grumbled without hesitation. “That’s where he always runs off to with Sebastian.”

“Wait…those two know each other?”

“Aye…bosom buddies, they are. I’m not sure how they’ll react to being separated.”

“Well, I’ll try to make the break as easy as possible on them, then.” Duncan nodded in thanks before leaving the dormitories, walking through the gravelled streets of Denerim towards the tavern. As he approached, the sounds of a scuffle in the nearby alley caught his attention.

**_Meanwhile, at the Gnawed Noble:_ **

_Finally. I knew if I kept coming here, he would eventually show his face._

“Outside,” Sebastian snarled as he glared at Robbie MacSwain, his nostrils flaring as he desperately tried to reign in the urge to beat him into a bloody stain right there on the tavern floor.

“As you wish, Your Highness,” Robbie mocked as he led the way out of the tavern door, turning to the right to escape the view of Sergeant Kylon, who usually stood on the fringes of the market. He and Sebastian kept going, winding through the dimly-lit street until they reached a dead end.

Robbie noticed that Sebastian wasn’t coming alone. He stopped and rounded on Sebastian. “Hey…you better tell your boy not to get in on this. Just you and me, Vael.”

Sebastian reluctantly turned to his friend. “Alistair—“

“Say no more. I’m nothing more than a fly on the wall,” Alistair replied as he backed away, his hands up in a surrendering gesture.

Robbie and Sebastian continued on to the furthest point in the alley. “You finally caught up to me. It’s about time; I’m tired of running,” Robbie said with a sneer.

Sebastian’s eyes flashed with fury. “Let’s settle this like men, Robbie.”

“Didn’t it ever bother you?” Robbie asked with a sly smirk.

Sebastian looked at him quizzically. “What are you talking about?”

“How she managed to keep me a secret from you for so long,” Robbie responded coolly.

Sebastian shrugged. “She came clean…said it had only been the last few months we were dating that she was betrothed to you. She explained how you were her best chance for a decent marriage. I couldn’t fault her for that…I knew my father would never let us marry.”

“And you believed that?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Robbie closed the space between them, his mouth twisted in a sadistic grin. “What if I told you we were together for much longer? If I said it was just as likely her baby was mine as it was yours? It was a _fine_ plan…your father was prepared to pay handsomely to ensure the baby’s secrecy.” He poked Sebastian’s chestplate. “Then you had to get all romantic on us…and it worked. It _fucking_ worked. She _wanted_ to run away with you. I couldn’t let that happen.”

Sebastian backed away a step and folded his arms. “Even if that _is_ true, which I don’t believe for a _second_ , did you ever consider _her_ in all this? Didn’t _she_ get a say in who she chose to love?”

Robbie took a couple of cautious steps back, his hands flexing at his sides as his pent-up anger finally started to boil over. “ _NO_. She was _mine_. You had _no_ right, Vael. No _fucking_ right. I didn’t want to kill her…but I couldn’t let her leave me, either. You left me no choice then—and I have no choice now,” Robbie snarled, pulling twin daggers from their sheaths and charging Sebastian.

Sebastian ducked to draw his own blade from its boot sheath and rolled forward to avoid MacSwain’s charge, winding up behind him. He popped up and slashed at Robbie’s back, slicing cleanly through the light leather armor he wore. Robbie arched his back, wincing in pain but trying not to cry out lest it attract the attention of the City Guard. Furious, he rounded on Sebastian, flinging one of his blades at the archer as he did so.

Alistair’s blade hand started to twitch, but he kept his word, standing by the wayside as he watched his friend fight the man who had taken so much from him. He nearly had a heart attack when he saw Robbie’s blade fly straight and true towards Sebastian’s chest. Fortunately, it clattered harmlessly off the white dragonbone of his chestplate. He let out a huge sigh of relief, but still couldn’t keep himself from starting to pace.

After Robbie’s blade bounced off his chest, Sebastian came at him with an overhand strike. Robbie blocked it, the hissing slide of metal against metal causing the hair on the back of Sebastian’s neck to rise. He twirled out of the block, before Robbie could counter with a strike of his own and slashed out again, catching Robbie’s arm this time. Robbie hunched slightly as he clutched at the wound. Sebastian took advantage and kicked him squarely in the arm, knocking Robbie off his feet as his remaining dagger fell from his grasp. Sebastian descended upon him then, two-handing the grip of his blade as he guided the point to the hollow of Robbie’s throat.

“Any last words, Robbie MacSwain?” Tears started to slide down Sebastian’s dirty cheeks as a spot of blood started to emerge from under the point of his dagger. _Finally…_

Robbie cackled, a wicked thing that sliced through the quiet tension. “She used to call out _your_ name when I would fuck her…said it would keep her from accidentally saying _mine_ when she was with you. Guess it must have worked, eh? You seem pretty convinced that she loved you,” he hissed, closing his eyes and breathing calmly in acceptance of his fate, a smirk on his lips.

“Shut your fucking mouth, Robbie. You don’t know what love is…you never will,” Sebastian snarled as he plunged the blade down, through skin and muscle and viscera, killing him. Sebastian focused all his pent-up grief, all his rage in the sharp point of his dagger’s blade. As he sank the steel into Robbie’s flesh over and over, a string of curses flew from his lips as tears fell freely. Several long moments passed, and Sebastian was still wildly hacking at the body, entranced. All the years of pain—both before he met Colleen and afterward—fueled his actions. Every wrong he’d felt, every tear he’d cried went into each thrust of his blade.

Alistair was stunned; he could understand releasing some of the pent-up anger, but could never have imagined that Sebastian would have absolutely lost his mind like this.  _So much blood…Maker’s breath, Sebastian’s covered in it._ He decided he could watch no longer; a few people had peeked out of the tavern and were watching in horror. There was no question at least one must have ran off to fetch the Guard by now.

“Sebastian, that’s enough,” Alistair said quietly as he approached Sebastian. His words clearly didn’t register, so he repeated himself a bit louder. Shaking his shoulder, Alistair still wasn’t able to break Sebastian’s trance. Finally, he tried to pull the archer off, but the edges of his armor were too blood-slicked to grip well, even with gloves.

Out of nowhere, a second set of hands—well-tanned and calloused from years of sword fighting—joined Alistair’s efforts to pull Sebastian off of the long-dead Robbie MacSwain. Together, four hands worked better than two and they managed to drag Sebastian away at last. The archer, his trance now broken, threw the dagger with disgust and scooted away from the body on his ass until he hit a wall and started sobbing violently, horrified at the sight of all the blood covering him. 

Panting, the stranger extended a hand to Alistair. “Come on, we’d better get him back to the Chantry. He needs to get cleaned up and in a safe place…looks pretty scared.”

Alistair took the hand and stood. “Look, stranger, I _know_ this looks bad, but I want to make it clear this was no random act…that man killed his girlfriend and their unborn baby, and got him exiled from his homeland.”

Duncan put his hands on Alistair’s shoulders and gave him a friendly smile. “I’m not here to turn either of you in, Alistair.”

Alistair looked at the stranger skeptically. “Wait…how do you know my name?”

“Oh…forgive me. My name is Duncan. I’m the Commander of the Ferelden Grey Wardens. Come on, help me lift Sebastian. We must get out of here now. The City Guardsmen are on their way,” he muttered as he wrapped one of Sebastian’s arms around his shoulders. Alistair mimicked his actions and they lifted Sebastian, walking quickly with him between buildings, emerging near the city gates at the outer stone wall of the Chantry. A pair of Denerim City Guards talking near the main entrance of the Chantry gave them pause.

“Here…give me a boost,” Alistair whispered to Duncan as they clung to the side wall, just out of the guards’ sight. “Sebastian, do you think you can help Duncan get you over the wall? I’ll help you down on the other side.”

Sebastian only nodded once. Duncan threaded his fingers, creating a step for Alistair, and heaved him up and over the wall. Sebastian weakly followed suit, and Duncan heard a clatter on the other side of the wall, along with a hissed _Holy Maker, Sebastian, have you been breaking into the larder at night?_ Duncan, who wasn’t terribly bloody, walked around to the front of the Chantry and quickly explained that he was a guest of the Grand Cleric. After being waved through, he approached the double doors, veering off at the last possible moment when he saw the guards had turned their backs again. He met up with the two young men at the side of the Chantry. Together the three of them snuck back into the building, hustling to the bathing room so Sebastian could get cleaned up.

In the interest of saving time, Alistair had the brilliant idea of dumping buckets of water over Sebastian as he stood over a grate in the floor designed to let bathwater drain away. Once the majority of blood was off his armor, Sebastian stripped and shooed them away, sitting down in one of the bathtubs and scrubbing himself slowly with soap. One, then two tubs of pink water later, Sebastian felt he was clean enough physically. _This is going to be quite the confession._

When Sebastian got to his room, Alistair was sitting on the bed in his nightclothes, giving the dragonbone armor one more pass with a polishing cloth. As the archer walked into the room, Alistair got up and set down the greave with the rest of Sebastian’s armor. Sebastian collapsed onto his bed, slumping over with fingers twined deep in his hair.

Alistair sat beside his friend, folding his hands in his lap as he stared at the floor. “Sebastian, I don’t know how to say this, but…I’m leaving. With Duncan. _Tonight_. I’ve been picked to join the Grey Wardens,” he whispered.

“He picked _you_? Congratulations!” Sebastian swallowed down the pang of jealousy that crept up.

“I know…I’m still in shock about it myself. I mean…what’s so special about me? I didn’t even win my battles in the Tournament today.”

“You’re a man of your word, Alistair…a man of integrity. That’s why. It takes more than just brute strength to be a capable warrior. It was obvious to the crowd that Knight-Commander Glavin selected opponents who would easily overpower you. Yet you fought just as hard as always, and didn’t complain. That is more important than victory.”

“I—thank you, Sebastian.”

Sebastian cast a sidelong glance at his friend as realization that Alistair wouldn’t be there in the morning finally sank in. “Where are you going?”

“I’m not sure yet—he hasn’t said,” Alistair muttered as he shook his head.

Sebastian let out a huff and bit his lower lip. “So this is it…our big goodbye? I certainly never imagined it would have gone like this…will we ever see each other again?” He looked at Alistair with a sorrowful expression.

“I…I hope so. No, I _know_ so. Our paths will cross again. Stay safe, Sebastian. I’ll miss you,” Alistair choked as he clutched Sebastian in a fierce hug.

“I’ll miss you too,” Sebastian whispered as Alistair pulled away. He could only stand there as he watched his friend turn around and walk out of his quarters, giving a brief, final wave of his gloved hand before he disappeared from view. Burying his face in his hands, Sebastian bit his lip hard enough to bleed as he fought the urge to loose a primal scream, the ability to cry having long since been exhausted.

_Was any of what Robbie said true? Was Colleen playing with my heart this whole time? Did she ever feel anything for me at all? Sweet Andraste, how your Holy Husband tests me…I finally get the chance to have some closure, and all it’s done is make things worse. And now, to top it all off, Alistair is gone. Look, I’m trying to do better, to live by the Chantry rules…but if this is my reward for doing so, I don’t think I have the strength to keep trying._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The concept of the Tournament and the character of Knight-Commander Glavin are adapted from BioWare's wiki entry for Alistair. Also, I'm not crazy about certain parts of this chapter, but it's been keeping me from moving forward with the other chapters that are already (mostly) written. I may go back and do some editing, and I will let you all know if I do. As always, thanks for reading.


	23. A Promise Kept

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fallout from Sebastian's duel with Robbie MacSwain; goodbyes and new beginnings. Word of Robbie's demise reaches Starkhaven.

**_Denerim, the next day:_ **

Sebastian sat opposite Grand Cleric Lynne, much like he had when he first arrived in Denerim three years ago. The office had changed little; rich red velvet drapes all but shut out any natural light, ornately-woven rugs dotted the deep brown wood floor. On walls and shelves were the symbolic trappings associated with the Chantry. The overall effect was stifling, oppressive.  _I hate being in this room._ Lynne looked at him with genuine concern, a welcome change from the harsh demeanor she bore towards him back then. Sitting forward, she stretched her arms across her desk, gesturing for Sebastian to take her thin hands.

"Sebastian…my boy…what have you done?" She whispered hoarsely, gently squeezing his fingers.

"I fulfilled a promise, Grand Cleric," Sebastian replied simply. There was no emotion—not on his face, nor in his voice. He had spent the entire night thinking about what had happened, what Robbie MacSwain had said, replaying the events over and over in his mind until he convinced himself that what he had done must have been sanctioned by the Maker himself. He hadn't slept a wink, and dark, hollow shadows circled his bloodshot eyes.

Lynne looked to the archer's hands in hers, idly rubbing her thumbs across his knuckles. "No…strangely enough, I understand why you killed that man. His actions took a lot from you, more than just your freedom. I mean, why did you sneak out?"

Sebastian furrowed his brows as he looked at a random spot on the desk. "We were celebrating our respective triumphs yesterday. I know Alistair was to take his Templar vows today, so we wanted to just live like normal people for one last night. I'm aware he's been recruited into the Grey Wardens instead, though."

Lynne scanned his face, searching for something she couldn't quite name.  _Remorse?_ She was met with that same blank stare he'd bore for several minutes now. Pain marred her face as she decided she simply had to confront him about his behavior once and for all. "Look, Sebastian, I  _must_  know…at what point are you finally going to  _get it_? When are you going to settle down? I have this sinking feeling that you've been sneaking around, doing Maker-knows-what since the moment you got kicked out of Starkhaven…perhaps you should let the events of last night be your wake-up call."

"Yes," Sebastian whispered, unable to meet her gaze.

"' _Yes'_  what?" Lynne demanded.

Sebastian took a deep breath and looked the Grand Cleric straight in the eyes. "Yes, I've done 'Maker-knows-what' since I left Starkhaven. I've snuck out, I've drank. I've womanized. All the while, I've played the part of the pious lad. I'm sorry. But as of late, I've-"

"No, you're not," Lynne spat as she retracted her hands from Sebastian's in disgust.  _I knew it. I knew this little shit hadn't changed._ "You're not sorry for what you've  _done_ , Sebastian. You're only sorry you got called out on your farce at long last. I  _should_  hand you over to the City Guard to let King Cailan decide your fate, but I  _can't_. You—my lucky little  _bastard_ —are being reassigned to Kirkwall. Your bodyguard will tell you more."

Sebastian cocked his head and looked at the Grand Cleric, confused. "My bodyguard? I didn't think I had one anymore…not since I got to Denerim."

Lynne leaned back in her chair and folded her arms across her chest as she fumed. "Oh…you still have one. That  _asshole_  showed up about a week ago…said you wrote him. I just refused to let him gallivant around, acting like an invested Brother in  _my_ Chantry. Get your arse back to quarters; he's waiting there for you."

Sebastian nodded and rose, and as soon as his back was turned he smiled broadly. He rushed back to his room, flinging open the door. Standing within was Seeker Richard, who was fondling Sebastian's smooth scale mail vest as it hung on the wooden armor stand. It was strange, seeing him in plainclothes, but the fact that he chose to wear all black was not at all surprising.

"Hello, Sebastian," he said without turning. "You've been  _busy_. Nice footwork last night. It was rather pleasant, getting to just stand back and watch a good ol' fashioned fight without being involved in it myself. Word to the wise, for next time…do  _try_  not to get so bloody. You made a terrible mess in the bathing room." He turned around at last, a bemused grin on his face, as he gestured for Sebastian to sit. The archer obeyed, closing the door behind him and slowly lowering himself onto his bed, staring at the Seeker all the while.

Richard stood right in front of him, looking down on Sebastian with arms folded. Sebastian could see the hint of a scar on his hairless chest. "You look surprised. Honestly, Sebastian, do you think I could let you run around Denerim without a guardian after I got your letter about MacSwain?" He sat beside Sebastian. "I couldn't trust anyone else to anticipate your next move as I can. Anyway…how does it feel?"

"Why didn't you tell me you were here?" Sebastian blurted, exasperated.

Richard chuckled lightly. "You have  _no_  idea how entertaining it is to follow you around, Sebastian." He paused. "But again, what I want to know is…how does it feel, now that you've killed Robbie MacSwain? Do you feel peace now? Are you satisfied, having exacted your revenge?"  _Maker…please…give him some reprieve?_

Sebastian looked at a faraway spot on the wall as he shook his head. "No. I don't feel at peace, and I'm not satisfied. I just…I don't know. I feel kind of numb, I guess."

"Hmm…yes, that's the shock, I suppose. I've killed so many now that it no longer registers," Richard muttered.

Sebastian just sat, silent, for several long moments, as he stared at the wall. "She asked me when I was going to get it. When I was going to settle down, Richard," he whispered, casting a sidelong glance at his Seeker guardian. "And I didn't have a damned answer for her…not even now, after sending Rob MacSwain to the Black Void. I'm starting to wonder if I ever will…have an answer for her, that is. Especially now that I feel more confused than ever."  _All I've wanted for years is to go back home, but am I really ready? Have I changed at all?_

Richard grabbed Sebastian by the shoulders, turning his torso so he could look his charge straight in the eyes. "Why do you feel the need to answer to her still? Hasn't Lynne made it perfectly clear she doesn't care for you one bit? Trust me; she only cares about her reputation. She's trying to position herself to be voted as the next Divine. You've done a fine job of embarrassing her lately, Sebastian. You've gotten under her skin. So, naturally, she's going to try and get under yours. Don't let her." He released Sebastian and got up, his back to the archer as he put one hand on his hip, banging the other firmly against the stone wall.

Sebastian narrowed his eyes on Richard. "You really,  _really_  don't want me to take vows, do you?"

"I really,  _really_  don't. Not unless it's what you truly  _want_ ," Richard grumbled, turning slightly. She's trying to ramrod you into a mold—to get you to be something you're not. At least something that you're not at this moment. Perhaps someday you'll try living the Chantry life and find it quite enjoyable. But not now. You're still full of…well,  _hormones_ , I guess. Nice job with the shed, by the way. I wouldn't have thought to make myself a little setup like that back in my heyday."

Sebastian's cheeks burned red.  _How did he—oh yeah. Seeker._ "Uh…thanks?" He sighed and buried his fingers in his thick auburn locks. "So you think she's just trying to what...shame me into behaving?"

Richard turned fully to him, relieved that Sebastian was finally starting to get it. "Precisely."

"What is the deal with you and her, anyway?" Sebastian asked, peaking an eyebrow.

"Do you  _really_  want to know?" Richard shot back with a smirk.

"I've been dying to find out since we arrived in Denerim."

Richard leaned back against the wall, crossing one foot over the other. "Let's just say…she is  _no_ innocent. And I may or may not have played a significant part in it."

 _I knew it!_ "You sly dog, you. So why does she hate you so?"

Richard chuckled. "We were both Templar recruits once…but she was  _forced_  to take Sisterhood vows after we were caught together. When I did nothing to keep her from being forced—well, as you might imagine, she was a bit bitter. Especially when I joined the Seekers and had the freedom to travel that she craved so badly," he finished quietly, a look of remorse flickering across his fine features.

Sebastian shook his head at Richard. "You and I really aren't all that different, are we?"

Richard pushed off of the wall and sat on the bed again. "No, Sebastian. That…we are  _not_. I think it should be perfectly clear by now why  _I_  continue to be your guardian."

Sebastian nodded as he bit his lower lip. "So…the Grand Cleric said I'm being sent to Kirkwall. What happens now?" He asked hesitantly.

"I'm sure it's just a temporary move, until word can spread about your innocence," Richard said, waving Sebastian's concern away. "I would expect your father to send for you within the next couple of months, but until then…people know where you are. We would leave immediately, but the Denerim City Guard have requested that you stick around, pending an investigation of what happened."

Sebastian furrowed his brows. "What…happened?"

"Uh, you forget already? You killed a man in the middle of the street?" Richard asked incredulously. "Vengeance or no, it's still  _murder_ , Sebastian. Despite your nobility and the protection granted to you by the Chantry…believe it or not, I can't just take you away. King Cailan would be well within his rights to request Grand Cleric Elthina to send you right back here. Fortunately, the Guard has graciously agreed to let you remain here, confined to quarters—something you're more than familiar with—until the investigation is complete."

The realization of what he'd actually done finally came crashing down on Sebastian, and tears started to sting his eyes.  _Holy Maker…I could be executed for this._ "What if they—"

"Then they will take you into custody, the same as any other criminal. You will likely be executed if they find you guilty," Richard said as smoothly as he could, desperate to keep Sebastian calm.

"…Which I definitely am," Sebastian muttered before burying his face in his hands.

Richard's calloused hand clamped down on the back of Sebastian's neck. "I  _didn't_  hear that. You'd be wise not to say  _anything_  of the sort again, not to me, not to  _anybody_ ," he hissed. After a moment's pause, he got up and approached Sebastian's door. "At any rate, all the witnesses seem to have left Denerim so I wouldn't be so quick to make any conclusions. I'll be staying in Alistair's room now, if you should have need of me. Other than that, you are not to leave the men's dormitories."

Sebastian scrubbed his face with his hands, then up through his hair before slapping his thighs as if to shake himself back to reality. "Understood. Thanks for coming, Richard," he said crisply.

"You're welcome. Like I said, I actually enjoy being your guardian. Never a dull moment, that's for sure." Richard smiled warmly as he left Sebastian to his thoughts.

Sebastian pulled off his boots and sat back on his bed, propped up against pillows. He threaded his fingers behind his head and soon lost himself in his thoughts.  _Maybe once I get to Kirkwall I ought to just stay there for a while…really reflect on things. I won't have the temptation of my garden shed, nor the familiarity of The Pearl or Gnawed Noble. Since I've been abstaining from sex, it's quite amazing how much more clearly I can think. Perhaps by cutting drink out of my life too, I can really figure out what it is that will make me happy—both during my remaining Chantry days and beyond. On the other hand…I'm twenty-one. I can take my endowment and leave. In fact, I recall during Mama's last visit, she urged me to do just that. It's something to consider, at least…I have to admit the thought of making my own way in the world still has a certain appeal to it._

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

**_Kirkwall, one week later:_ **

"Grand Cleric, this letter came for you from Denerim," Sister Petrice said as she laid a folded, sealed missive on Elthina's desk. It bore the Chantry sun—a letter from her old friend Lynne.

"Thank you, Petrice," Elthina muttered, noticing that as she started to open the letter, Petrice still stood over her, expectantly. "That is all…you're dismissed."

Petrice frowned slightly but nodded in acknowledgement before leaving the office. Elthina wrinkled her nose and shook her head.  _Snoopy little thing, she is. Need to break her of that sooner rather than later before she gets herself into real trouble._ She finished opening the letter.

_Elthina:_

_If you have not received it already, you will be getting a letter from the Divine informing you of a new initiate coming to Kirkwall. You'd do well to reject him. Trust me, he's been nothing but trouble since Justinia sent him here a few years back. She'll tell you it's a life-or-death situation, but that doesn't excuse the things he's done since being given to the Chantry. He is untamable, unremorseful, and forsakes the Chantry life at every turn. He will arrive with a sizeable endowment. Save yourself a load of trouble; give it to him and tell him to go find his own path. I've known you a long time, Elthina. I know you will want to try to fix him, but I tell you, he is truly a lost cause. Please…consider my words before you decide whether or not to take him. I would hate for you to suffer any heartache for his pathetic sake._

_-L._

Elthina smiled and chuckled as she read Lynne's words.  _Has there ever been a young male initiate that she hasn't had trouble with?_ But she couldn't deny that the Divine's letter, which had arrived just days before, had sent a chill up her spine.  _The Divine's never asked me to harbor anyone before. I wonder what he's done to get reassigned from Denerim._ She had dealt with her fair share of troubled youth in her time with the Chantry; most simply needed to know that somebody cared about them. She could do that again for this young man.  _I bore none of them, but I'm surrounded by children that I love unconditionally_.

Thus, her mind had been made up before she even finished the Divine's letter; the young man would find an open-armed welcome in Kirkwall. In fact, if Elthina would dare admit such a thing, she was rather looking forward to meeting this young man.

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

**_Denerim, one week later:_ **

_Sebastian sat up in bed, startled awake by an unknown force. As his eyes adjusted to the sparse light in his quarters, he heard faint singing off in the distance. The tune was familiar, yet he couldn't place it…not without getting closer. He pulled the sheet off of his lap and swung his legs over the edge of his bed, but when his bare feet hit the stone floor, Sebastian felt nothing. He walked to the door of his room and opened the door, craning his head this way and that as he tried to get a bearing on the sound. Deciding the sound to be coming from the gardens, Sebastian left his room, wearing only thin cotton sleeping pants as he snaked his way through the men's dormitory, into the women's rooms, and out through the back door of the Chantry._

_Once outside, Sebastian found the singing had grown louder. It was a woman's voice, quiet and husky, singing his favorite lullaby:_

_Hush-a-by_

_Don't you cry_

_Go to sleepy, little baby_

_When you wake_

_You will find_

_All the pretty little horses_

_Blacks and greys_

_Dapples and bays_

_All the pretty little horses…_

_Sebastian followed the enchanting tune to the rearmost part of the gardens, where he usually practiced his archery. Just before he left the formal part of the grounds, he paused and looked to his left. A woman with raven hair, gathered in a loose bun, sat on a bench with her back to him, rocking gently. Sebastian turned fully to her and realized that she was the source of the song. The woman fidgeted a little bit and he noticed she was cradling something in her arms. Sebastian walked a bit closer, reaching out his hand to get her attention—to ask her what she was doing in the Chantry gardens in the middle of the night—but the woman spoke just as his fingers were about to brush her silk robe._

" _Hello, Sebastian," the unmistakable voice of Colleen MacDougal whispered as she twisted her body to face him._

" _C-Colleen…my love…" Sebastian dropped to his knees and smiled as he reached to touch her, as he had longed to do so many times over the past several years._

_His hand went right through her._

" _Sebastian, sweetheart…you know this is just a dream. But there's something you need to hear and you'll only listen if it comes from me…whether I'm real matters not," the raven-haired beauty said as she finished turning to face him. She held a swaddled bundle in her arms; he wasn't sure if he dared peek at it. With no words exchanged, Colleen simply lowered the bundle for Sebastian to take a look on his own terms. He looked up at her through auburn lashes and then at the bundle in her arms. The baby was tiny…he didn't think babies were that small but then again the last one he had held was Hannah, and that was fifteen years ago. The infant tried to wriggle and cooed at him, clearly wanting his attention._

" _Isn't she beautiful? She likes her daddy…"Colleen trailed off and Sebastian noted then that the girl had a shock of bronze hair._ The babe was mine,  _Sebastian thought._

" _Yes…yes she is. We did good, Colleen…but what is it you have to tell me?"_

_Colleen stood, starting to walk slowly towards the fountain at the center of the gardens. A large, golden-brown bird-of-prey lit on a low branch of the oak tree behind him as he stood and started to match her leisurely pace. The bird floated to the ground, walking and hopping over various little obstacles as it kept up with the couple, never taking its eyes off of Sebastian. "My love, hear my words and take them into your heart. Please. You have done all you promised by killing Robbie. Our souls can rest now," she whispered as she looked down at their child, her fingers fumbling with the baby's swaddling. "But yours is still so twisted and torn. Look into your heart…remember our time together…and you will know the truth has been there the whole time. Promise me you'll allow yourself peace now, Sebastian."_

_They both paused and faced each other. Sebastian reached out, ghosting his hand near Colleen's cheek, careful not to touch because he knew his hand would simply fall through her and he was sure he couldn't bear to break the illusion. "I have to admit…I expected peace to come with Rob's death. I…I don't know what to do now, Colleen. Do I simply just conform to the Chantry life until Father recalls me to Starkhaven? Or should I tell my father off once and for all and leave here, to make my own way in the world?" Sebastian asked, desperate. "You know…sometimes…when I miss you really, really badly…I even wonder what I would have to do to join you. I know it's a sin, and I shouldn't even think such thoughts…but you were the only happiness I ever knew, and I just miss you so damned much—"_

_The bird stopped and let out a screeching KREE-AH, causing Sebastian to turn and look down at it. The bird tilted its head as it gazed thoughtfully at him._

" _You see this bird, Colleen? I think it's a golden hawk. I haven't seen one of these since I left Starkhav—Colleen?" Sebastian spun around, eyes wide as he looked all over for his lass. "Colleen? Where did you go?" He sighed heavily and turned to go back into the Chantry but the bird squawked again at him._

_Sebastian turned right back around, dropping smoothly to one knee in order to get a better look at the bird. It was a golden hawk, as he thought, but there was something about it. Like it knew something. Again, it tilted its head at him and blinked._

_The bird opened its beak slightly as it fluffed its wings. It turned around and flew a few feet, barely above the ground, pausing and looking back at Sebastian expectantly when it landed again. He chuckled to himself and followed slowly, curious. They played this little chase game until finally, the bird flew up and landed on top of the small storage shed where Sebastian kept his gardening equipment, targets…and wine and bed and various trappings of sexual activity like silk scarves. He cringed, wondering what he would find within as the bird squawked at him once more, shifting on its feet as it stood above the door._

_Sebastian slid open the bolt latch holding the double wooden doors shut and grabbed the handles, pulling the doors open. Instead of the symbols of debauchery he expected to find in there, the shed contained nothing more than the gardening tools that it held before Brother Henry had passed away. The only thing different was that the Starkhaven longbow and his grandfather's quiver lay on the workbench, surrounded by the pieces of his distinctive armor._

" _Grandda's bow…is this my peace, then? Just my armor and bow? Am I to leave the Chantry after all? Perhaps return to Starkhaven, even?" Sebastian asked aloud to nobody, not even at the bird, who had by now floated down from the top of the shed and stood in the open doorway. "What in the Void am I even saying such things for? This is only just a dream!" Frustrated, Sebastian turned to leave, stopping when he noticed that the bird was not budging._

" _Oh…I suppose you have more to show me, then, little hawk? Should I just follow you, then, oh wizened bird?" Sebastian asked sarcastically._

_If it were possible for a bird to appear annoyed, the bird certainly achieved it as it leapt up, flapping its wings to level with Sebastian's face as its piercing eyes glared into the archer's. Sebastian thought for a moment that the bird might pluck out his eyes but it stopped, landing softly on the workbench beside him, right next to his armor and bow._

" _Follow you it is, then," Sebastian said, without a hint of sarcasm this time, astounded by the perceptiveness of the animal as it watched him pull on his armor and strap the bow across his back. The hawk circled around his head and flew out of the shed again, into the night. As he started to follow, everything faded around him, and the last thing he noticed was a large coiled pile of chain on the shed's floor as he crossed the threshold…_

Sebastian shot up in bed at the screeching sound of a bird. He looked all around him, his dilated pupils grasping at any light they could find, trying to pinpoint the sound's source, but found only that he was still confined in his quarters. He breathed hard, noting he was drenched in sweat. He jerked the blanket off of him, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. His bare feet hit the stone floor and he yelped slightly as the temperature difference between hot skin and cold slate caused pinpricks to ripple along his soles.

The archer stood and stumbled along until he reached his washing stand, dumping water from pitcher to bowl while still half-asleep. He bent way over, until his face was practically touching the water, and he scooped up handful after handful, thoroughly soaking his face and neck, until he was wide awake. Sebastian crumpled over completely, resting his elbows on the wooden stand as his forehead touched the edge of the basin. His eyes screwed shut as he frantically tried to recall, to hang on to any fragment of the dream he had just woken from…particularly the part with Colleen.

But he couldn't get the curious little bird out of his head. Try as he might to isolate visions of either Colleen or their baby, he just couldn't keep the bird out of them.

"My dreams sometimes, I swear…follow a damned bird," Sebastian muttered to himself. "The blasted thing flew into nothing, and it meant me to chase it?" He straightened up, stomping over to his bed and sitting heavily on its edge as he lost himself to his thoughts.  _It led me to my armor and bow, then insisted I put it on and follow it…into nothing. And it was Grandda's bow, to boot. So…does that mean I'm meant to go home soon, or that my armor and bow will be my damnation? Och. What a dream. Could have sufficed with one of those nice ones with a naked girl in my lap, but no. I had to have a weird dream with birds and babies and lullabies. Maker's breath. I'm going back to bed._

A few short hours later, a loud knock and the abrupt opening of the door jerked Sebastian from sleep. He rubbed his eyes, temporarily blinded by the sudden light when Richard yanked the drapes open.

"Get up, Sebastian," Richard said brightly. "Pack your things. We leave for Kirkwall in two hours."

Sebastian shook his head; partly to shuck the last vestiges of sleep, partly because he couldn't believe what he'd just heard. "I've been  _exonerated_?" His voice sounded foreign and gravelly in the mornings before he had his tea, and he hated it.

Richard, who had taken it upon himself to start helping Sebastian pack, paused and grinned. "You continue to be the luckiest sonuvabitch I've ever met in my  _life_. Robbie MacSwain was wanted for the murders of several prostitutes in Gwaren, Redcliffe, and Lothering. King Cailan was pleased that you did him such a huge favor, and said that if you ever wish to return to Ferelden, you will be welcomed with open arms."

"Thank the Maker," Sebastian muttered as he sat up. He buried his fingers in his hair and let out a huge whooshing sigh of relief as Richard gave him a firm pat on the back.

"Thank the Maker, indeed. Now come on, you want to leave yourself a bit of time to say goodbye to that friend of yours at The Pearl, don't you?"

Sebastian rolled his eyes and sighed. "Is there  _anything_  about me you don't know about?"

Richard laughed heartily and slapped Sebastian on the back. "Very,  _very_  little, Sebastian. I must say, I have to hand it to you for taking care of Shoshanna like you've been, though. It's a kind use of the little stipend you receive."

Sebastian furrowed his brows and bit at his thumbnail. "I'm just afraid that once I'm gone, she'll have no one to keep her from sliding into oblivion."

Richard slid his hand around Sebastian's shoulders, giving him a playful hug. "She'll be just fine. I spoke with her at length yesterday; she's been banking up all the coin you've given her, and now she has enough to break free of that life. She's going back to Antiva, to reconcile with her family," Richard said. "I'm really, really proud of you, Sebastian. When I first started tailing you, I never imagined you would do anything like this."

"Well…if you know about her, then you know about Alistair. He's the one that kind of inspired it," Sebastian offered.

"I do know about him, yes. I shudder to think what you would still be doing if you hadn't met someone like him."

"I prefer not to. I'd probably be with a lass in my shed right  _now_ ," Sebastian muttered.  _Which wouldn't really be all that bad, but I do kind of like not being trapped in that vicious cycle of having sex and then thinking about sex, which leads me to pursue more sex…how did I ever manage to have the energy to make it through the day?_

"Speaking of…I've taken the liberty of confiscating everything in there. I burned it all; you don't need that kind of  _luggage_  in Kirkwall, if you get my drift. Seriously, though. Let's get a move on, shall we? I'll go get you some tea while you wash up," Richard said as he got up and left Sebastian to once again pack all of his things in preparation to flee.

Once the packing was complete and tea consumed, Sebastian and Richard made their way to The Pearl to say goodbye to Shoshanna. Entering the main hall, they were approached by a pissed-off Sanga.

"You…and  _you_!" She growled, poking the chests of the men. "This is all your doing!"

Sebastian arched an eyebrow. "What do you mean, ' _all our doing'_?"

Sanga threw up her hands in frustration. "Shoshanna's leaving! My best, most popular prostitute, and she's leaving," Sanga hissed. "You put those ideas in her head…kept giving her money, and now she's got the funds to go to Antiva. I'm  _ruined_! Finished!"

Sebastian and Richard exchanged a quick, pleased glance before Sebastian placed a soothing hand on Sanga's shoulder. "She should have the chance to find her happiness, Sanga," he whispered in her ear. "Would you rather she overindulge in poppy smoke and die? You see what this life has done to her, but it's not too late…she has family. Let her go back to them."

Sanga gave Sebastian a remorseful look. "The sad fact is, this is the only way that any of us can make enough to eat and keep a roof over our heads. I'm likely going to have to find  _two_  girls to replace Shoshanna, and even then I might lose money. Please don't paint me as a monster, Sebastian…I'm simply trying to survive, same as anybody else," she said softly.

"I never said that you're a monster, now did I? All I'm saying is that Shoshanna has a chance. She's finally brave enough to take it—please let her," Sebastian said before leading Richard back to Shoshanna's room. He knocked on the door, and a muffled, cheery  _come in_ was like music to his ears.

It'd been a while since Sebastian had last seen his Antivan friend; by his reckoning, nearly a month…and he'd never seen her so healthy, so happy. Her eyes were shadowless and bright, skin glowing, hair a bit longer than he was used to seeing.

"Sebastian!" Shoshanna cried, putting down the shirt she was folding and rushing over to him. She gripped him in a fierce hug, and Sebastian could smell her rose-and-amber perfume on clean skin. He nuzzled into her neck, just a little bit, so he could enjoy the lack of other scents—booze, other men, poppy smoke—a while longer.  _Sweet Andraste…did she manage to kick her habit?_ "I was so worried about you—I thought you might not come around again, but then Richard told me what was going on. How are you doing? That must have been quite the ordeal, facing Robbie down at last."

Richard smiled warmly as he closed the door, allowing the pair to have their final moments together alone. Sebastian simply held on to Shoshanna, stroking a hand idly on her back. "I must admit, I haven't yet felt the sense of resolution that I thought it would. But what about you? You look fantastic…and I hear you're leaving this place."

"I am…and I have you to thank for it, Sebastian," she sighed contentedly into his chest. "Without your kindness, your ear…I was a lost soul, and now I'm found again. I've been writing to my family in Antiva. They invited me to come home, even though I told them everything I've been through. Can you believe that?"

"Well I would say if they didn't welcome you home, they were a pack of fools," Sebastian said, grinning. "I'm so happy for you, Shoshanna. It makes having to say goodbye a bit easier."

"I know…Richard said that if you were cleared of the murder, you'd be on your way to Kirkwall," Shoshanna whispered, voice breaking a tiny bit at the end.  _The thought of not having you here definitely helped me make up my mind,_ she wanted to tell him, but didn't.

"We're leaving this morning…I only have about twenty minutes, actually," Sebastian muttered into her white-blonde hair. "I wish I had more time…"

Shoshanna craned her neck and giggled in Sebastian's ear. "I think that's plenty of time for me to properly  _thank_  you, Sebastian." She punctuated her statement with a nip on his earlobe.

Sebastian pulled away slightly. "Shoshanna… _no_ …I promised you that I'd never—"

The Antivan beauty poked his chestplate. " _That_  was when you were paying for it, as a client." She looked up then, her hazel-green eyes glittering as she started to slide leather straps through brass buckles in an effort to start removing barriers between her hands and his skin. "I  _want_  to do this…Sebastian, I don't know any other way to say this, so I'm just going to. What I feel for you…it goes  _deep_. I can't say I'd call it love, because I don't know anything about that, but you're the best friend I've ever had…and you're exceptionally easy on the eyes, to boot. How about just one last time, for you  _and_  me? Maybe in Kirkwall, you can start with a clean slate, to use the opportunity to try living under Chantry rules—maybe it'll help you find that peace you're looking for. All I know is when I get back to Antiva, I'm not going to have sex…not unless I meet a man I want to marry. Everything in my body, in my soul is telling me I need to do this. But right now…I need  _you_. I want my last time to mean something…I want it to be with someone I trust."

"I couldn't agree more…on all counts," Sebastian muttered as he clutched her close again, just wanting to savor this moment of sweetness for as long as he could.  _I think I could definitely call this love. It's different than what I had with Colleen, but you know what? I'm a different person, and so is Shoshanna. In another life, perhaps we could've been together…but as it is, I'll take what I can get with her._

"Shoshanna," Sebastian gasped as she started to trail kisses down his neck. He slumped a bit, knees suddenly weak when she reached the hollow of his throat, teasing it with the very tip of her tongue. "Lass…we don't have time to do this properly…"

He heard his belt hit the floor before he even realized she'd undone it. Taking her cue, Sebastian swiftly shrugged off his chestplate—since the straps were already loose from her nimble fingers—and together they undid the hook-and-eye closures holding his mail vest closed. Pieces of his armor clattered to the floor in record time, and before he knew it, Sebastian was only in his smalls.

"You, my dear, are wearing far too much clothing," Sebastian growled, gesturing at Shoshanna's burgundy dress. She simply arched an eyebrow at him as she bent over, legs straight, picking up the hem. She stretched deliciously as she pulled the linen up, up, and over her head, revealing that she certainly was  _not_  wearing far too much clothing underneath. In fact, she was completely naked now, save for the delicate silver necklace she always wore.

"Better?" Shoshanna purred as she hooked her thumbs in the waistband of Sebastian's smalls, pulling them down in a quick motion that caused him to hiss with a sharp intake of breath.

"In a second, yes," Sebastian groaned as he guided Shoshanna to her bed, laying her down gently. He caged himself over her and leaned down, claiming her lips with a gentle kiss.  _I nearly forgot how sweet kissing on the lips can be…_ He trailed kisses down her throat to her breasts, stealing a few precious moments to lavish those beautiful mounds with careful attention. As he sweetly sucked on her stiffening nipples, Shoshanna started to writhe underneath him.

"Sebastian…please…we don't have a lot of time," she moaned, tugging on his bronze locks in an effort to get his attention.

"Trust me, it won't take me long to do this." Sebastian had a wicked glint in his eyes as his ministrations started to move further and further south. Easing her thighs apart, Sebastian placed a single kiss on her clean-shorn mound. "For all the times we enjoyed each other before, you  _never_  let me taste you. If this is going to be our last time, I want to  _savor_  you," he whispered against her heated skin, eliciting a full-body shiver. He flicked out his tongue, barely grazing her outer lips, and he was rewarded by a yelp and a keenly-arched back.

"I've never let anybody do that before," Shoshanna groaned. "I think I've been missing out." Chuckling soft and dark, Sebastian gently parted her to gain access and closed his lips around her pearl, gingerly suckling on her while his tongue started to dance on wet, warm, musky flesh.  _I think of all the things I love about sex, the taste of a woman is what I'll miss most._

"Mmmm…my dear…what would make you deny a man such a marvelous treat," Sebastian murmured against her, being sure to let his lips buzz with each deliberately drawn-out  _m._

"I have no idea now that I— _more_ ,  _please_ ," Shoshanna begged through gritted teeth as her hips bucked under his touch.

"Such manners…" Sebastian whispered as he slid first one, then two fingers inside of her slickness. He firmed up his mouth and crooked his finger, tickling that fleshy spot inside that made a girl's toes curl with the want of it, as he started to will Shoshanna towards climax.

He was right; it didn't take long. As her moans grew more insistent, so did he and within just minutes, she sang praises to his name as her body convulsed in orgasmic bliss. As soon as her hips stilled, and her panting breaths regulated a bit, Sebastian moved up, sliding himself home as his mouth—still slick with her juices—claimed hers again. Their mouths never parted, tongues locked in a devilish duel, as Sebastian hilted himself over and over—faster and faster—harder and harder, reveling in the delicious stretch of her sheath around his thick length as he pressed her thigh tight against his side. That Shoshanna came again so quickly was rather surprising for both of them and Sebastian peaked a bit sooner than he would have liked, shouting out a particularly loud  _Maker, yes!_ as he managed to withdraw before filling the Antivan with his hot seed. He rested his forehead against hers as they both fought to slow their racing hearts, to catch their ragged breaths. Finally, Sebastian could see straight again and he took the opportunity to kiss Shoshanna one last time, desperate to commit the taste and feel of her lips to memory.

"I'm going to miss you so damned much," he whispered just as a knock on the door interrupted them, Richard's muffled  _Sebastian, we have got to go or we'll miss the boat_ the signal they had both been dreading. He rose, a sorrowful look on his face, and quickly pulled on his underclothes and armor, deciding he would fasten the buckles of his chestplate on the way to the boat.

"Thank you again, Sebastian…for  _everything_. That was amazing. I've never come like that, let alone twice. It'll make me miss you just that much more," Shoshanna said with a wink as she sat up, gathering her blanket around her.

Sebastian leaned down, caressing her cheek and giving her one slow, final kiss. He then left quickly—better to not linger—and met up with Richard in the hall. The walk to the docks was quiet, with Sebastian focusing on fastening every last hook, strap, and button on his armor rather than acknowledging what he and Richard both knew had just happened.

Once on the boat and settled into their bunk bed, Richard leaned over and grinned, a startling sight in the half-lit hold. "You needed that. Just keep that in mind if you ever consider taking your vows."

"I only did it because it was  _her_ ," Sebastian hissed back, not wanting to wake others around them. "Only because it meant something to us  _both_."

"That's  _precisely_  what I was getting at. Good night, Sebastian."

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

**_Meanwhile, in Starkhaven:_ **

Matthias, Aidan Vael's manservant, knocked on the door before opening it. "Your Highness, Baron Ewan MacNair to see you, and this message just arrived from Denerim," he said crisply as he thrust out a folded, wax-sealed note for Aidan.

Aidan and Gavin rolled their eyes.  _Wonderful. That little hot-headed shit again._  "Show him in, if you please," the Prince replied as he snatched the message from Matthias' outstretched hand. Matthias bowed deeply and returned to the door, showing the Baron inside.

Ewan shuffled in, bruised and haggard. It had been a long trip back from Denerim; he was jumped by a gang of thugs on the way back to his boat, and all his gold was stolen. He tried to win enough gold to pay his fare back by hustling others at Wicked Grace. Unfortunately, gambling had never been his strong suit, and he only won enough to make it to Ostwick. He had spent the last week or so traveling through the forest on foot, scavenging for his meals. Yet, he had made a promise to the man in Denerim, and he intended to keep it.

"Your Highness, please forgive my horrid appearance. I've just come from Denerim, with a message from Richard," he said, voice cracking due to his extremely dry throat.

Aidan tilted his head and leaned forward in his seat. "Richard? Do tell." He gestured for Gavin to fetch them all something to drink.

Ewan took a deep breath to steel himself. "I've been working with Barons Treadgold and Stuart, along with a few merchants, to try and shake you up, so to speak. I originally wanted to make you see that there are greater things to be concerned with than hiding your miscreant son. But the others are speaking of wicked things. I decided I couldn't be a part of that any longer. A man had told us that Sebastian was holed up in Denerim's Chantry, so I decided to go there and warn him. Richard intercepted me, to put it mildly."

"Certainly appears that way," Gavin said with a snort as he handed Ewan a glass of scotch.

Ewan turned red as he realized how awful he must look. "This isn't from him—it's been a helluva trip, I'll just say that. Anyway, I promised him that I would tell you everything. He suggested that I continue working with the others but as a spy—that I am to tell you everything," he said, clearing his throat for emphasis.

Aidan narrowed his eyes on the man. "Why in Thedas should I trust you?"

Ewan approached Aidan's desk, placing his hands on its surface as he looked at the Prince, imploring him to believe his words. "Because I went to Denerim— _unarmed_ , might I add—to warn Sebastian, not to hurt him. I never wanted any of this…I just wanted to make sure my children inherit a prosperous farm, and I thought you could be making better trade agreements. I got swayed by the others' heated words—I must admit that I'm absolute rubbish at this whole political thing that comes with a Barony. I  _don't_  want civil war, Your Highness. The others would cause just that," he finished, nearly crying in his effort to make himself clear.

Gavin placed a gentle hand on Ewan's shoulder to calm him. "Are they working with anyone else, anyone outside of Starkhaven?"

Ewan looked sideways at the Seneschal. "A man named Renly. I didn't know his last name, but Richard suggested that it might be—"

"Harimann. We know him well," Aidan growled, finishing MacNair's sentence. "Very well, Ewan. Richard must have seen something or heard something that gave him reason to believe that you are sincere, and I trust him implicitly. If you truly think you can maintain the others' trust, knowing you'll be coming right to me with whatever they're planning, then I will allow you to do so. But know this, Baron Ewan MacNair," he said firmly. "If I have even the  _slightest_  reason to doubt you—I will not hesitate to execute you right alongside your fellow Barons. Is that clear?"

Ewan's eyes flew wide as relief washed over him. "Yes, Your Highness. Thank you—for giving me a chance to redeem myself. I know I wound up on the wrong side of all this. I can tell you right now that they have been speaking of staging a coup. I will try to get more details for you at our next meeting," he spluttered, eager to get started on this new mission that would redeem him.

"When will that be?" Gavin asked coolly.

"Next week, at Baron Treadgold's estate."

Aidan tented his index fingers as he pursed his lips. "Excellent. Do keep your wits about you, Ewan…Renly Harimann is a dangerous, unpredictable man. If he's as much behind this as we believe him to be, one misstep will mean your death…either from him or from me. Say nothing, not even to your wife."

"Yes, Your Highness. Thank you again. I will be back next week," Ewan muttered as he bowed. He popped up and hobbled out of Aidan's study.

Aidan then turned his attention to the message, letting out a huge breath as he looked at his son with an arched eyebrow. "I do hope Richard is right. I don't need to tell  _you_  to be ever-vigilant, Seneschal."

Gavin nodded as he took his seat once again. "Of course not. I have guards posted twenty-four, seven. Bria goes nowhere without at least two guards. I know Corbinian has adopted the same policy, especially with another wee one on the way."

Aidan gasped. "Mara's pregnant again?  _Damn_. I didn't think Corbinian cared much for her when I first told him of the betrothal."

"I think she's taken a few lessons in how to pleasure a man from his favorite whore, Catarina," Gavin said with a smirk.

Aidan rolled his eyes.  _My sons and their penchant for whores. Where in the Void did they get it from? Certainly not me._ "Well, whatever it is, Maker bless the boy for continuing the line. How's Bria? Is she-?"

Gavin shook his head. "No. The court physician said that he believes her to be barren." Outwardly, Gavin took pains to look sad. Internally, however, he was quite glad to be childless.  _That would put quite the hamper on our…activities._

Aidan furrowed his brows, a sorrowful look on his face. "Oh…Gavin…I'm so sorry. I can try to make you another match, if you'd like."  _My boys deserve to enjoy being fathers…even Sebastian—again—someday._

Gavin shook his head. "No, that won't be necessary. I love her dearly…wouldn't trade her for anything," he said with a wistful smile.

"I'm glad for that, at least. It took you long enough to agree to a betrothal, I suppose I shouldn't push my luck by wishing for more grandchildren, eh?" Aidan muttered as he leaned back in his chair.

"Why don't you just read that note, Your Highness?" Gavin asked sharply, clearly annoyed.

"Ah, yes," Aidan said, remembering that he still held the half-opened note in his hand. He scanned it quickly and grinned. "He did it. I can't believe it. Rob MacSwain is  _dead_ ," Aidan muttered as he tossed the letter in Gavin's direction, a wide grin capturing his features.

Gavin leaned over and snatched up the paper, scanning it quickly. "Sebastian got his revenge. It's over! It's finally fucking  _over_! Sebastian's coming home! Shall I go get Mother, so we can let her know?"

Aidan thought for a moment. "No," he said quietly.

"What? But you  _promised_. MacSwain is dead. The threat is no more," Gavin said as he leapt up, leaning over his father's desk, eyes flashing with anger.

Aidan stood, returning the harsh glare. "Are you  _kidding_  me? Did you not just hear what MacNair said about some of the Barons thinking of staging a coup?" He turned away, looking out of his window. "No…Sebastian  _must_  go to Kirkwall. We need to spy on Harimann. That sonuvabitch must fall before I'll consider us safe. I'm sorry, but he simply cannot come home yet."

"Consider  _us_  safe," Gavin muttered and paused. "This isn't about protecting Seb anymore, is it?"

Aidan ran a hand into his graying, thinning hair. "It ceased to be solely about Sebastian  _years_  ago," he admitted. "Let's just say that news of a possible coup is not surprising in the least. Sebastian must remain in the Chantry because he might just end up being the sole surviving Vael, should a coup actually come to pass. It's why I keep moving him around—I figure if I keep him as far away as possible, at least there's a chance whoever strikes against us might not find out where he is."

Gavin scratched his chin thoughtfully. "And that's why  _Kirkwall_  was the next place…you're hoping if Harimann finds out and actually makes a strike against Sebastian there, Richard will do his job and take him out before he can muster the support for a full coup here."

Aidan smirked at his son. "Precisely. You're catching on to this big game quite well…though it sounds like things are already being set into motion."

"Right…I guess. So are you going to execute Brennen MacSwain for his complicity, now that his son has been found and killed?"

The Prince of Starkhaven cleared his throat. "No. I will exile him. There's been enough blood shed over this matter. I'm tired of all the death, the conspiracies, the watching over our shoulders. All the blood that I spill just seems to fuel Harimann's ability to sway our nobility his way. Instead, if we get MacSwain out of Starkhaven, he'll probably go straight to Kirkwall. If Renly gets greedy, we'll let Richard do what he does best…and Sebastian might just be able to come home by his next Name Day."

"You know, I must say that I agree wholeheartedly with that plan, Your Highness," Gavin said with a smile.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: And so our dear Sebastian is off to Kirkwall...but the Act isn't over yet. That said, for Act III, I could use some opinions. I could either A) simply do POV shifts between Sebastian and Aspasia when there is a parallel between this story and Hawke's Journal; or B) focus on Sebastian's internal struggles and behind-the-scenes efforts to gain support for his claim in Starkhaven. I'm leaning towards B, because personally I feel like doing nothing but POV shifts looks like a big cop-out. That isn't to say that when the time comes, there won't be lemony goodness with Hawke. Let me know what you think. As always, thanks for reading; comments, favorites, kudos, and recs are love. I am having the time of my life writing this, to be honest. Feel free to PM me with any suggestions!


	24. Breaking Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian is given the choice to take his endowment and leave the Chantry, but agony over the decision causes him to hit rock bottom at long last.

**_Kirkwall, six months later:_ **

There _were_ worse places to be assigned to than Kirkwall, if Sebastian thought about it long enough. _Ostwick is a shithole of a city…and the last place I ever want to visit again is Val Royeaux. The only really bad thing about Denerim was the mud…and the stabbings, I guess. So what if Kirkwall is hotter than the surface of the sun and has been since I got here in Cloudreach? I’m stuck indoors—what does it matter?_

Sebastian looked around him; the archive room was a windowless, dark place. Burgundy tapestries resplendent with the gold Chantry sun alternated with charcoal-colored velvet drapes along the stone walls. The walls were dotted with sconces housing tall, thick red pillar candles, and a pair of braziers emitted a small but steady amount of smoke laced with the myrrh resin inside. Mahogany bookshelves and desks filled the room, creating a space that felt both intensely serious and oddly comforting. _A pleasant enough place…if one had no interest in the outside world at all._ He dipped his quill in the inkpot absentmindedly as he thought about what might be going on outside the walls of Kirkwall’s Chantry, splashing a bit of the red fluid onto the parchment in front of him. He grumbled as he tried to dab it up before it soaked in, but he was too slow. Shaking his head in self-admonishment, he took more care in re-inking his quill this time, slowly tracing along his pencil sketch until the ornate B was surrounded by a dozen tiny crimson _fleurs-de-lis_.

“That’s _much_ better, Sebastian,” an elderly female voice mumbled behind him. He turned to find Grand Cleric Elthina watching him work and smiled. _And I’ve certainly had worse Grand Clerics to answer to, that’s for certain._ “I do believe you’ll make a fine illustrator in time. Where did you say you learned to draw, again?”

 _A prostitute named Shoshanna in Denerim…but I can’t say that to the Grand Cleric. _“The master who taught me Arcanum was an accomplished artist. My father saw it as another way to keep me out of his hair, so he allowed the master to teach me some basics,” Sebastian replied smoothly, impressed by his ability to think up such a fabulous cover on the spot. _I’ve still got it_. A second after he closed his mouth, however, he remembered that Elthina had asked this very same question last week…and he had given a much different answer. _Damn._ He could feel himself blush slightly.

Elthina noticed his gaffe and didn’t miss a beat. “Arcanum—well, that shouldn’t be a surprise, considering you’re royalty,” she muttered. “Anyway, I came to let you know that supper is in fifteen minutes. I know it can be a bit _too_ quiet up here, and it’s very easy to lose track of time with no windows.” She turned to leave, a bemused smile on her face. _Silver-tongued thing, he is…I think breaking him of this habit might be as difficult as getting him to stop drinking is proving to be._

 _You’re slipping into old habits again, fool._ “Wait, Grand Cleric,” Sebastian blurted. Elthina halted in the doorway. “I _didn’t_ have a master who taught me Arcanum.”

Elthina felt a sense of triumph inside as she turned to face the young Prince, walking slowly back towards him. “I know…and I have a feeling that your Gran isn’t a celebrated artist in Starkhaven, either,” she said with a wry smile.

Sebastian furrowed his brows and shook his lowered head. “Aye…she is not.”

The elderly woman pulled a stool from one of the other desks and sat beside Sebastian, placing a withered hand on his shoulder. “Why lie, especially about something so _trivial_? This is proving to be one of your more troublesome vices, Sebastian.”

“Because the truth is stranger than the lie,” Sebastian muttered under his breath.

“Try me,” Elthina said gently, giving his shoulder a light squeeze.

Sebastian took a deep breath. _Och. Where to begin?_ “Well…in Denerim I had a friend named Shoshanna. She and I would spend some time together every week, and we would do various things, like talk or go to dinner. She happened to be a skilled artist, and taught me a few things.”

Elthina tilted her head to catch Sebastian’s eyes. “That seems quite innocent--”

Sebastian gave Elthina a quick sidelong glance before he cleared his throat, looking hard at the parchment. “She was a prostitute. And the time we spent together…was paid for,” he whispered, though there was nobody in the archive room save for he and Elthina.

Elthina gave him a quizzical look. “You paid a prostitute not for sexual favors, but to spend time with?” __

Sebastian chuckled softly to himself. “Oh, I used to see her in the…um… _traditional_ sense as well.” He paused, recalling the night he vowed to never use a prostitute for sex again. “But one day I just… _couldn’t_ anymore. So I decided that I would come every week, and pay her like always, but use the time to give her a break from life.”

Elthina leaned away from Sebastian, sizing him up as his words sank in. “That’s…incredibly _kind_ of you, Sebastian. I’m surprised, honestly.”

“She banked that money and used it to move back to Antiva,” Sebastian mumbled with a smile on his face. _Perhaps the best thing I’ve ever done for somebody, really…_

“So why would you lie about that?” Elthina asked, confused. __

Sebastian met Elthina’s gray eyes, his expression full of remorse. “Because I didn’t want to disappoint you _too_ , Elthina. I know you were told some of my past—I don’t know how much, though. I can’t hide the things I’ve done forever, but I wanted to start with a clean slate here—in Val Royeaux and Denerim, full disclosure of my past got me nothing but scorn,” he muttered, twirling the quill in his fingers and watching the speckled dots on the feather blur with the motion. _This would make a fine vane for an arrow once it’s too short to write with, actually. I should hide it so nobody else takes it._

Elthina leaned forward, clasping her hands as though she were praying as she spoke. “Sebastian, the only thing that matters to me is that you find your peace—whether it is here as a fully-invested Brother, or outside these walls. It’s not my place to judge you—but it _is_ my place to ensure that you are happy with whatever decisions you make going forward,” she said firmly before pausing to consider her next words. “You’ve been in the Chantry for nearly five years; it’s well past time for you to take your vows…if you even want that. While the Chantry is protecting you as a courtesy to your father for his generous endowment…personally, I _am_ concerned about keeping you here indefinitely if you’re not the least bit interested in adhering to our rules. It benefits neither of us to maintain this charade.”

Sebastian swallowed hard and put down the feather quill. “I’m not sure I follow, Elthina.” _Is she saying what I think she’s saying? Is she kicking me out?_

The elderly Grand Cleric sighed and put a thin arm around his broad shoulders, her voice settling into a soothing lilt. “Sebastian, I don’t have any doubt that in your heart—your _soul_ —you are as devout an Andrastian as I…but I also know that it’s been hard for you to give certain things up. I see how you struggle with chastity whenever a pretty girl flirts with you, and the guards are still finding bottles of rum and wine stashed in your room. Look, I’m not going to push you before you’re ready…but just know I’m always here for you. If— _when_ you want to talk about the things that drive you to these vices, I’ll listen without judgment. Until then, just remember that now you are only here as long as you _wish_ to be. I do think, however, that there is a comfort and peace to be found in the vows we take. If that is what you’re looking for, then I will work with you to that end. If not, I will simply give you your leave of this place. Either way, you will always have my willing ear.”

 _Not kicking me out, then…but giving me the choice to leave if I don’t wish to take vows._ “Thank you, Elthina. It is…something to _consider_...” Sebastian mumbled, trailing off.

Elthina smoothed a hand over Sebastian’s hair, a sensation that brought back a vivid memory of his Gran doing the same when he was a boy. _She really does care about me. _“If you do decide to take your leave, know that you will always be welcome to come back. It’s _never_ too late to change, Sebastian. Keep that in mind,” she said warmly as she got up and left Sebastian there—alone—in the archive room. He only hesitated a moment or two before his grumbling stomach insisted upon heading down to the dining hall.

Instead of going towards the dining hall herself, however, Elthina made a beeline for her office. Once there, she unlocked her safe and took out a smaller lockbox with a _lion rampant_ sigil carved into the lid. The elderly woman took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and left her office again—with the box in her hands.

Sebastian returned to his room after supper, still mulling over the words he had shared with Elthina earlier. _Is it bad that I was so lost in my thoughts that I don’t even remember what I ate?_ He sighed, frustration clouding his mood, as he unbuttoned his robes in preparation for bed. It wasn’t until he turned around to hang his robe on the hook on his door that he noticed the lockbox. Curious, he sank down on the bed and inspected it more closely. _My family’s sigil…this is…_ He opened it; the lockbox was stuffed with Starkhaven sovereigns. _…my endowment._ Sebastian sat there for several long moments, looking at the gold.

 _Freedom. Here it is, sitting in my damned lap and why haven’t I run yet?_ Sebastian considered pleas from his mother and Seeker Richard in contrast with his brothers’ urging to stay hidden. _Stay out of their hair so they can squeeze me out of any duties I would have had to the Crown, is more like it._ He looked over in the corner, at his armor on its stand and his bow propped up against the stone wall. _My armor and bow…haven’t met my little bird yet though. Perhaps I won’t if I don’t take this opportunity to leave while I can._

And just like that, the decision was made.

Sebastian opened his wardrobe, pulling out his knapsack. He stuffed it with his extra clothes, leaving behind his Chantry-issued robes and plainclothes. _I’ll buy new in the morning before I leave town…wait, why should I just leave Kirkwall without at least exploring a bit? No, I’ll stay in a tavern…maybe for a week or so…then decide where to go._ He pulled on his black linen underclothes before stepping over to the armor stand, shrugging on his leather coat and mail vest, and strapping on his chestplate. Snapping the Andraste-shaped belt latch shut as he prepared to leave the Chantry once and for all seemed surreal.

Sebastian couldn’t bring himself to take his entire endowment, though. For starters, _three_ _thousand_ sovereigns were too damned heavy. Then there was the whole guilt factor; the Chantry had housed him, kept him safe and fed for five years. Surely he should leave some of the gold behind as repayment for that, at least. Counting out the coin in stacks, it took Sebastian nearly ten minutes to divide the endowment in half. _Much lighter…both in wallet and in soul._ He doled out fifty sovereigns to his belt pouch and stuffed the remainder into his multiple stockings, turning them into fat woolen sausages stuffed with gold.

Next, he flipped open the lid to his footlocker and grabbed the few items within; his boot dagger, belt knife, a drawing by Shoshanna, the two medals he had won in the Ferelden Archery Tournament, and a necklace with the Vael family sigil. He sheathed the dagger and belt knife, but when he went to remove the necklace with the Chantry sun from around his neck, Sebastian found he just couldn’t…so he didn’t. _I’m not abandoning my faith; I’m just not taking vows._ He layered the gold _lion rampant_ necklace on top of it, tucking both inside his clothes so they rested directly against his skin. The drawing and medals went in the pack, like everything else, and Sebastian drew the cord tight before folding over the oilskin flap and hooking the bone toggle through its sinew mate. Slinging his bow and quiver over his back first, Sebastian then snaked his arm through the pack’s strap and quickly strode to the door—before he changed his mind. He had nearly exited when he remembered that there was one stash of rum that Elthina had never found; a flask stuck inside the hollow cavity of a statue of Andraste on his nightstand. Retrieving the pewter container, he tucked it inside his jacket and left.

It had taken Sebastian a while to make his decision and prepare to leave, but not so long that the halls in the dormitory were completely silent. As he crept along, taking care to not allow his pack to jostle against his scale mail too much, Sebastian overheard various spoken prayers and meditations. _I certainly won’t miss this constant chanting in the background. I miss having my garden duties because I could get away from this. But not tonight. Tonight, I am thankful for the chanting...because it’s masking my footfalls._ He reached the back door, which led out to the garden. _Cross the garden, climb over the wrought-iron gate, and I’m free._

It was the work of a moment, and Sebastian Vael stood outside the Kirkwall Chantry for the first time since he’d been there. He looked up at the sky and mouthed a _thank you_ to the Maker for letting this happen at long last. Smiling broadly, he started the long walk from the back of the Chantry to the stairs which would carry him down into Hightown. _I have absolutely no idea where the tavern is…perhaps I’ll catch a passerby and ask._ It wasn’t too late yet; judging by the position of the moon, Sebastian figured it was only about nine.

Sebastian’s feet left the last of the steps leading down from the Chantry and he let out a huge huff. He reached into his jacket and grabbed the flask of rum, unscrewing the top and taking a sip of the rough liquor. The warming sensation trickled from the back of his mouth all the way down into his stomach and he smiled at the comfort of it. The pace of his step perked up and soon, Sebastian was humming brightly to himself in between swigs of swill as he looked around for someone to get directions from.

He found a ginger-haired dwarf—with an impressively-polished crossbow strapped to his back—engaged in conversation with three others of his kind. _Now this is a fellow that looks like he knows things._ Sebastian tucked the flask in his jacket, approached slowly, and cleared his throat. “Excuse me, Serah?”

The dwarf turned slowly, a smirk on his face. He sized Sebastian up quickly. _Nice armor. Must be either incredibly rich or incredibly full of himself to wear a get up like that._ “Yes…Messere?” __

Sebastian didn’t miss Varric’s judgmental glance. _Damn this armor sometimes. It is nearly impossible to blend in._ “I’m new to Kirkwall…might you know where a fellow can find lodging and a hot meal for the night?” Sebastian asked, giving the dwarf a crooked, sheepish grin.

The dwarf’s amber eyes crinkled as he returned the smile. _I’m gonna go with incredibly rich…and by the looks of it, completely out of his element. This poor sucker won’t last five minutes in Kirkwall. The city’ll eat him alive._ “Certainly. The Hanged Man is in Lowtown. Keep following those steps—they kind of meander a bit, but eventually you’ll reach a bridge just off the market area. Follow it. Then just keep going down more stairs into Lowtown. When you emerge from the Bazaar, The Hanged Man is right there. Can’t miss it; there’s a huge effigy hanging by its feet right above the door. Tell Corff that Varric sent ya,” he said, voice gruff but friendly.

“Varric…thank you, Serah. I shall do that,” Sebastian said, giving Varric a deep bow.

 _Aw, sod it. I can’t let this sap get jumped. If I weren’t otherwise occupied, I’d accompany him myself. But he’s an archer…he should be able to defend himself, right?_ “Oh…word of advice…watch your back. This city absolutely crawls with thugs at night. Might wanna keep your bow at hand.”

Sebastian blushed slightly at his oversight. _How could I be so careless? What reason do I have to believe that Kirkwall is any more safe at night than Denerim? Och. Think, Sebastian…think…or you won’t survive your first night of freedom._ He sighed and slumped slightly before setting down his pack and reaching over his shoulder to grab his bow. “Thank you again, Serah. Perhaps we’ll enjoy a pint there soon?”

“If you’re buying, Messere, I’m drinking. Good luck to you,” Varric said with a warm smile as he turned his back, engaging in discussion with the other dwarves once more.

Sebastian smiled and resumed his journey through Hightown, bow in left hand, flask of rum in his right. It didn’t take long for him to reach the market area that Varric had spoken of…and there, right smack in the middle of it, was a huge weeping willow tree. Sebastian gasped and nearly dropped his bow; it was the first one he’d seen since he stood on the banks of the Minanter, waiting for Colleen on that fateful night five years ago. The full moon above seemed to beam down straight onto it, like the Maker Himself bathed it in cool light. He pulled the flask away from his lips and stared at it. “What am I doing,” he muttered to himself. “As soon as my feet left the Chantry, the first thing I did was grab a drink. And now? I’m on the way to the bloody tavern, where no doubt I’ll drink even more and probably end up with a lass in my bed.”

_If I haven’t changed a damned bit by now, what do I hope to accomplish with my freedom?_

The more Sebastian stared at the shiny surface of the flask, the more he felt a scene straight from his past take over, and it seemed achingly real. 

_Colleen clapped a hand on his shoulder, startling him from his glazed-over staring contest with the bottle._

Sebastian could’ve sworn that at that moment, Colleen was indeed touching him. It was so real, in fact, that he looked over, half-expecting to see her heavy-lidded gray eyes looking back at him. But—like so many times before—all he saw was an empty space where his lass should’ve been… _should still_ _be_ , if only he had gotten her out of Starkhaven before Robbie MacSwain killed her. The memory of her soft voice flooded his ears.

_“You're no waste. Even I can see that. You've definitely stumbled over the past couple of years, Sebastian, but you are good, deep-down. You have your grandfather's heart. I don't know what's going on with you—I mean, I've heard plenty—but know if you ever need to talk, I'm here. I've known you since we were wee. Sebastian…that…that bottle isn't you."_

Even though her voice was only in his head, he recalled that day perfectly as tears streamed down his cheeks. Her kind words had gotten through to him then, just like they were doing again now, and he considered the flask in his hand.  _I’m not a waste…not unless I choose to be._

A brief memory of Shoshanna as she fought the urge to relapse during a particularly nasty withdrawal episode flickered in his mind and contrasted with their final meeting, where he felt such joy when he realized she had successfully kicked her poppy-smoke habit and was every bit the strong, clear-headed woman he had known existed deep-down under those layers of addlement.

 _That was her choice…just like this is my choice. MINE. And I choose not to be a waste. _With that, Sebastian tipped the flask, watching as the remnants of amber liquid spilled to the limestone pavers that lined the Hightown market. The stone soaked up the booze readily. He looked at the now-empty flask and placed it at the base of the willow tree. _I will no longer let myself be defined as the Black Sheep of the Vael family…starting now._

He turned around, climbing the steps back towards the Chantry, a renewed sense of calm washing over him the closer he got to those hallowed halls. Practically running up the final (interminably long) staircase, Sebastian stood at the front door of the Kirkwall Chantry.

_Maker…I’m just not strong enough to do this on my own. I need your help…and if you guide me through this, I swear I will serve you in every way for the rest of my days. I see now that without your guidance, I am doomed to a wasted existence. I will gladly eschew wealth, women, and drinking in favor of filling those holes with the light of your glory. I am a broken man…and I need you to heal me, Maker. Please…I beg of you…help me…_

Sebastian put a hand on one of the double doors and shoved, resolute in his choice, feeling the embrace of the Maker wrap around him and envelop him in warmth as he took each successive step closer to the huge bronze statue of Andraste in the nave. He sank to his knees and looked up at her—in all her magnificent perfection—and sobbed pitifully.

One of the Sisters serving overnight duty watched, stunned, as Sebastian entered in full armor and ran for the Grand Cleric. Minutes later, Elthina rushed down to the nave, where Sebastian still knelt, his bronze-haired head bobbing as he cried, face buried in his hands.

“Sebastian,” Elthina whispered, placing a hand on his back. “Hush, child…come, let us go somewhere quiet so we can talk.”

Sebastian stopped sobbing and sniffled hard, grinding the heels of his palms into his eyes before looking up at Elthina, desperate. “I’m so sorry, Elthina…I left,” he choked, voice cracking. “But I couldn’t stay away…I realized that I—“

Elthina stroked his head and smiled warmly. “No need to explain, Sebastian. As I told you, you are always welcome here.” She helped him up and together they went to his room. As she guided him through the door, she paused. “The Maker will never lead you astray, Sebastian. Everything he does has a purpose…even this.”

Sebastian dropped his pack and hung his head briefly before looking back over his shoulder. “I know…thank you, Elthina. May I come speak with you in the morning?”

“Of course, my child. Now…get some rest. You look very weary,” Elthina said gently as she pulled his door shut.

“I’ve never felt better in my life, actually,” Sebastian muttered as Elthina closed the door, and he meant every word. As soon as the door was shut, he pulled a piece of paper from his nightstand drawer and started writing a long-overdue letter.

Meanwhile, at The Hanged Man, Varric Tethras entered the tavern and scanned the room. Not seeing the young man in his obscenely shiny white armor, he approached Corff. “Say…has a young man in blinding white armor been in here tonight?”

“Nope, been pretty dead, really,” the bartender replied.

“Okay, thanks,” Varric grumbled. _Shit. I guess the kid got jumped after all. Just my luck…I get a rich kid to agree to buy me drinks and he goes and gets himself shanked._

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

**_Starkhaven, two weeks later:_ **

Captain Ryon wiped down his bloodied sword and returned it to the sheath on his hip.  “Your man MacNair has proven to be a rock-solid snitch,” he growled.

“That…he has,” Aidan Vael muttered as he looked at the disembodied head of Baron Treadgold. He looked up at Ryon, who nodded his head towards the cell door. “Wallace will take care of these?”

“It’ll be stuck on the spikes within the hour, Sire,” replied Ryon’s second-in-command.

Aidan gave Wallace a thin smile. The men exited the cell and stopped by Ryon’s quarters. Aidan looked on as Ryon took off his plate armor and washed up, marveling at the crisscrossed thin white lines marring the warrior’s back. _He must have a terrible past to have been whipped so badly._ Ryon put on leather pants, a linen tunic, and a thick, quilted leather jerkin, and together the pair returned to the palace in silence, choosing to hold their tongues until they reached the sanctuary of the Prince’s study.

The instant that Ryon shut the door of Aidan’s study behind him, the Prince lashed out, snatching a pillow from his chaise and whipping it across the room. It barely grazed a pedestal which held a painted Orlesian vase. The contact—though slight—proved too much and the porcelain crashed to the floor, splintering into dozens of razor-sharp pieces. Aidan let out a roar. “You would _think_ that sitting in solitary confinement for _years_ would give a man pause when deciding whether or not to join forces with a rebellious pack of shitheads.”

Ryon let out a snort. “Well…Brennen MacSwain _did_ keep his son’s whereabouts secret for years just to get back at you and Sebastian, so I’m not all that surprised that he went straight to Kirkwall after you released him.”

Aidan poured out generous glasses of scotch for Ryon and himself. “That’s what I get for being lenient, isn’t it? I should have lopped off his head myself. It should be on the spikes of the city walls, waiting for Treadgold’s to join him,” he said bitterly, handing one glass to his captain.

“It’s no use worrying about that now, Your Highness. We must focus on efforts to crush Renly Harimann,” Ryon said smoothly, taking a sip.

“How can we do that? We have nothing on him anymore—not since he started freely telling people that Colleen was his daughter. From what we’ve gathered, he’s practically untouchable in Kirkwall—second only to the Viscount himself as far as power is concerned.” Aidan was too agitated to notice how full his glass was, and as he spoke, his flailing arms caused scotch to splash over the edges of his glass.

Ryon put a hand on the mantle over the fireplace, glaring at the glowing embers as he drank. “Hire mercenaries…I hear the Red Iron is a capable group, and they’re based in Kirkwall.”

Aidan’s blue eyes flashed with anger as he crossed over to take Ryon to task. “Mercenaries… _HA_! Can you _imagine_ the political backlash if they should fail in their task? We would make Renly more powerful than ever, and I would become enemy number one both in Kirkwall and here at home. I think we need to keep trying to find ways to weaken him…if he appears less powerful, his persuasiveness should plummet. I’m certain if his influence can be eliminated, our nobility will calm down. Treadgold is dead; certainly he will reveal himself to Baron Stuart now…and Stuart will invariably involve Ewan MacNair. We’ll be closer than ever to tapping directly into Renly’s anarchical machinations,” Aidan grumbled.

“But that takes time…time we may not have while the people are still upset about the economy,” Ryon offered.

Aidan let out a huff and walked away from Ryon, picking up a large shard of the broken vase and examining the small slice of the pastoral imagery on it. _Strengthen the people…and they won’t be so easily swayed. Wasn’t that the whole message that Ewan was trying to convey to begin with, before he realized his error and came to our side?_ “You make a good point…since we’ve seized the property of those two merchants, let’s get their goods flowing so the people have coin in their pockets. I’m also going to authorize the Seneschal to slash taxes; I’ve got a budget surplus that is regrettably large. That money needs to circulate in our markets, not languish in my coffers. Can’t bloody well take it with me when I croak, now can I?” Aidan said with a nervous chuckle. _Which may be sooner rather than later, if this doesn’t work._

Ryon nodded and smiled. “I believe that is a very good start, Your Highness.” _Governing isn’t my thing, but even I could see this needs to be done._

Aidan gave his captain a thin smile. “I should have done it years ago…could’ve headed off much of this mess.” He turned towards his desk and started to sit down, noticing a sealed message on his desk. _Chantry sun? Must be a progress report from the Divine._ He broke the seal, preparing to read the latest missive about his son’s semi-appropriate behavior.

_To His Royal Highness, the Most Worthy Prince Aidan Vael of Starkhaven from his penitent son, greetings._

“Holy Maker…it’s from _Sebastian_ ,” Aidan gasped. Ryon’s eyes went wide, and the Prince resumed reading as the captain took his customary chair across from him.

_Please forgive me for the inexcusable lapse of time since our last communication. I would like you to know that I still treasure the suit of armor, and it continues to serve me beautifully. I write today, however, to inform you that I have made a decision regarding my future, and beg for your acceptance of my choice._

Aidan’s brows furrowed when he read the words ‘my choice’, but said nothing.

_It has been roughly five years since I was sent to serve the Maker, and at no time during those years have I been able to adhere to the rules set forth by the Chantry. I was made aware when I turned eighteen that I was free to leave at any time—I chose to stay because I thought it was what you wanted me to do while you resolved my unfortunate trail of destruction in Starkhaven. The promise of coming home soon was enough to keep me behaving just well enough so as to not raise the ire of the Grand Cleric in Denerim._

_When I learned I was to be reassigned to Kirkwall, however, it became clear that for whatever reason, I would not be allowed to return to Starkhaven any time soon. Your reasons are your own for that, and I will not question them. I am, however, an adult and perfectly capable of making my own decisions._

“Oh… _shit_ ,” Aidan muttered. Ryon raised his eyebrows but stayed quiet.

_Initially, I decided to take part of my endowment and leave to make my own way in the world. I had wanted to join the Grey Wardens while in Denerim and thought I might return to Ferelden to do just that. After leaving the Chantry, however, I had an epiphany. I realized that I hadn’t given the Maker any chance to help me shake my demons and by leaving the way I did, I would inevitably return to my old ways. So I have returned and given my endowment back to the Grand Cleric. I have decided that I will give up the trappings of wealth and royalty for a life of contemplation, much like Grandda wanted to do in his later years._

_Father, I cannot even begin to apologize for my shameful behavior and all the grief it has caused you. The only thing I can do is pledge to live a good life from this point forward. The best way for me to do that is to stay in Kirkwall and become an invested Brother. Please…whatever you might be planning in order to get me back to Starkhaven…put a halt to it. I’ve only heard tiny bits here and there about the state of things back home, and I’m ashamed that so much chaos has ensued for my sake. Hopefully, in time, I will be given leave to visit—or vice versa._

_This was not an easy choice, and I know it will not be an easy road. But I honestly believe it will save my life. Please give all my love to the family, and tell them that I miss them terribly. I can never thank you enough, Father, for giving me the opportunity and tools to effect change in my life. Had you not stepped in…I don’t want to think about that, and neither do you. I look forward to the day where I can shake your hand as a true man, not a waste as I have been._

_Your loving son,_

_Sebastian_

Aidan finished the letter and let it drop to his desk. He buried his face in his hands and started taking deep, hissing breaths.

“Your Highness?” Ryon whispered. “Is Sebastian alright?”

“The others will never forgive me,” Aidan muttered between breaths. “Read the letter yourself.”

Ryon frowned as he snatched the letter from Aidan’s desk, scanning it quickly. “So…what now? He no longer wants us to continue our efforts to bring him home…but if we stop our pursuit of Harimann, he’s not likely to return the favor. Whatever he’s up to…it ceased being about the lass years ago.”

Aidan ran his hands up through his hair as he straightened up, threading his fingers behind his head. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s making a play to put his wife in a position of power…don’t forget, she’s Starkhaven nobility. If she was to successfully marry one of her children into the right family and Renly staged his coup, the Harimanns would be a heartbeat away from the Crown.”

Ryon arched an eyebrow. “Do you think this has _always_ been about gaining a foothold in Starkhaven’s court?”

Aidan scratched at his chin. “Perhaps. I do recall that Johane has always been terribly envious of Andra. I can’t imagine what would drive her to such madness, but it is possible. Anyway, would you go get the Seneschal for me? I need to… _um_ …break this news to him.”

Ryon got up and bowed. “Of course…I’ll take my time, let you calm down a bit,” he said softly.

“Thanks, Ryon. Really. You were right about Sebastian…you said he would thank me for this someday, and now he has. Here’s hoping it doesn’t blow up in my face,” Aidan muttered as he took a drink.

Ryon gave Aidan a grim look and nodded sharply as he exited the door. Once it was closed again, Aidan broke down into tears. _Maker, I know this is what I wanted for him for so long…but why does it feel like I lost my son? Please…take good care of him…he’s all yours now._


	25. BloodSugarSexMagick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johane Harimann grows impatient with her husband's efforts to overthrow the Vaels. Aidan and Captain Ryon pay Viscount Dumar a visit to discuss a mutual problem. The Red Iron eliminates a very meddlesome noble.
> 
> The first portion of this chapter found inspiration from the title of the Red Hot Chili Peppers' album BloodSugarSexMagick. I think that pretty much describes it, yeah. There is a bloodletting involving a child (not fatal--the ritual required pure blood). Just so you know.

**_Kirkwall, Harimann Estate, one week later (First day of Harvestmere):_ **

_Knock-knock-knock!_

“Is anybody going to get that?” Flora Harimann called from her spot in the study.  _I really don’t want to put this book down…’Hard in Hightown’…where does this guy come up with these titles?_ Nobody responded, and another series of sharp raps on the door gave Flora reason to grunt disapproval as she dog-eared her page and left the novel for another time.

Opening the door, she found a dozen men, all dressed in gray-and-white robes, standing on the doorstep. “Can I help you?” Flora asked with a roll of her eyes.

“Yes, you can, Flora,” a bald man with a full white beard said, voice dripping with charm. “I’m here to see your mother…is the beautiful Lady Johane here?”

Flora raised her eyebrows at the familiarity this stranger dared display, but she felt oddly disinclined to do anything about it. Instead she stood aside, gesturing for the men to enter. “She’s down in the basement. Are you the workers she hired to do the excavation for our new wine cellar?” She turned to watch the men gather in the foyer.

The bald man was the last to enter, and brushed a hand across the small of Flora’s back as he winked at her. Flora gasped at his touch. “Yes, my pretty, we _are_ the workers your mother hired. Which way is the basement? We can show ourselves down so you can go back to whatever your little heart desires. Perhaps later you can partake of some of the wine we’ve brought and you can discover new things to _want_ ,” he whispered in her ear, causing Flora to shudder.

Flora, for her part, maintained her composure surprisingly well for being brought up rather sheltered. “The basement is this way, Messeres,” she blurted, red-faced, as she strode quickly in front of the group. She awkwardly thrust out a hand once they approached the proper door. “Down there.”

“Thank you, my little Flora,” the bald man said as he took her hand and kissed her knuckles. He let his lips linger far longer than a proper gentleman should. _Did he just flick his tongue?_ “Here…let me give you this bottle of wine for your troubles. Don’t keep it all to yourself, though…do share with those strapping brothers of yours, my dear.”

Flora nodded, a motion that was not of her own volition. The strange man placed a hefty black bottle in her hand. It was adorned with a crest of red and yellow, and Flora immediately recognized it as the symbol of the Tevinter Imperium. _Tevinter wine? Are these men from Tevinter? Why in Thedas would Mother hire workers from Tevinter when there are so many Fereldan refugees seeking work in Kirkwall?_ She muttered a quick thanks as the man disappeared into the depths of the basement.

Returning to the study, Flora decided that it couldn’t hurt to at least sample the wine the men had brought. _I am the connoisseur of the family, if I do say so myself. I have the most refined palate, at least._ She uncorked the bottle and poured herself a small measure. Swirling the deep burgundy liquid in the glass, Flora lifted it to her nose and took a deep breath, picking up notes of oak and cherry and plum…and something she couldn’t quite identify but it was positively intriguing. She took a sip and let the liquid slide over her taste buds. The oak, cherry, and plum notes were definitely there, as was a touch of honey. For a red wine, it was surprisingly sweet and went down easy. As she swallowed, a slight bitter note hit the back of her tongue and she smacked her mouth, trying to rid herself of it, but it only got worse. _I’ll just take another sip and wash it back. It’s probably just mixing with the small ale I was drinking before those men arrived._ Flora took another, larger sip this time and was relieved to find the bitter note was virtually absent. _I knew it. This stuff is really, really good. Tevinter knows wine, that’s for sure._

Before she knew it, half the bottle was gone, and any odd feeling she had about the men who had arrived earlier had abated.  Flora giggled as she poured herself another glass and settled back into her chair with her novel.

Soon, her laughter rang through the upstairs of the estate, gaining the attention of both Brett and Ruxton.

“Flora? Are you… _drunk_?” Brett gasped as the brothers entered the study and found Flora sitting on the floor, giggling with her knees drawn towards her chest—exposing a scandalous amount of thigh—as she held a book in one hand and a black bottle in the other.

“Shuddup an’ get me more wine…those workers have more, I’m sure of it,” Flora slurred.

Brett approached Flora and took the bottle out of her hand, first sniffing it and then looking at the bottle. “What is this? I’ve never seen this label before— _Maker_! Is this the Tevinter Imperium’s badge?”

“Give me that,” Ruxton barked as he snatched the bottle from Brett’s hand. “It is.” He sampled the wine and smiled. “Try it.” He tipped the bottle towards the younger man.

Brett peaked an eyebrow at his brother, but obeyed and took the bottle. The cloyingly sweet wine slid down his throat easily, which was rare. _Usually I can’t stand wine but this…this is amazing._ “This _is_ good, Flora. I’m gonna see if I can’t get another bottle from those workers. The racket they were making has finally let up a bit. I’ll be right back.” He stepped outside the study and found that the desk overlooking the first floor held dozens of black bottles, all with the same Tevinter badge. _Funny…how come I didn’t notice those when we came through just a minute ago?_ Brett shrugged his shoulders and grabbed two bottles of the booze, smiling triumphantly at his siblings’ applause when he re-entered the study.

Brett uncorked the first bottle and poured out glasses for the three of them. “To Tevinter wineries!” He cheered, raising his glass.

“To Tevinter wineries!” Ruxton and Flora chimed in.

Far below the Harimann siblings, Johane watched as the Tevinter magisters skillfully combined ingredients in a crucible that sat atop a stone altar they had erected from the Avvar artifacts that had been unearthed by their earlier efforts.

“You were right to call upon us, Lady Johane…this place…the Veil is so thin here. Do you have the… _final_ _ingredient_?” The bald man asked, stroking his beard.

“Yes…right here, Commodus,” Johane muttered as she pulled the urchin child from behind her and shoved the little girl forward, right into the man’s waiting arms.

Commodus embraced the little girl, stroking her hair and shushing her. The pig-tailed redhead shivered uncontrollably. “Now, now, my pet…I only need a _little_ favor from you. I’ll give you a salve so it won’t hurt a bit. Do you think you can do a favor for me?”

“Remember, I gave you ten sovereigns to do this, girl,” Johane hissed.

The redhead looked at Johane, then at Commodus and nodded, tears welling in her eyes. Commodus helped her up on to the wooden table and coaxed her into lying down on her back. He gently closed restraints around her arms and legs. “Which is your dominant hand, my sweet? I need to know.”

“M-my _left_ , messere,” the girl whispered hoarsely.

Producing a salve from his belt pouch, he smiled at the girl as he rubbed it on the inside of her left wrist. “You should feel a bit of a tingle, then some warmth, and finally nothing.” He waited a couple of moments before tapping his index finger against the spot. “Feel that?” The girl shook her head. “Excellent. Let’s begin.”

Commodus draped a red silk sash over the girl’s face so she couldn’t see. Then he took his belt knife—a shard of pure black obsidian with a drakeskin grip—and traced a pentagram in the air over her chest, muttering in Arcanum.

_Ortus sumus in sanguine, morimur in sanguine_

_iuratus sumus per sanguis, sub sollicito oculo_

_duce meam dextram manum dum mihi scindo cum novacula_

_id sectilis, est stigma; id veneficium, est factus._

Commodus took the girl’s left hand and sliced across her wrist, the blood quickly filling a chalice that his assistant held. Once it was filled, he lovingly tied a tourniquet around her forearm to stem the flow and cast a sleep hex on the girl to let her recover. The powerful magister cupped the chalice reverently, eyes shining wickedly as he reveled in the thrum of power he felt radiating from the silver cup. He walked over to the crucible and poured in a slow stream of the blood, turning the already-pulverized contents into a paste.

“It is done,” he said proudly as he stood back, watching the crucible as it started to glow. He looked over to Johane, who was shivering delightfully, as though riding the high of a powerful orgasm. In a flash, she levitated and a desire demon emerged from her corporeal form before Commodus’ very eyes.

“Ahhh…so nice to be back at long last,” Allure purred as she floated gently back to the ground, letting the unconscious Johane fall with a thud. The chains crisscrossing her torso tinkled delicately as she sauntered over to Commodus, caressing his cheek as she pressed herself to him. “I was beginning to think I’d never break through. My Lady is a powerful woman…but she has nothing on you Tevinter magisters.”

Commodus leaned into Allure’s touch. “Allure…it’s been so long…”

Allure broke away from Commodus, snaking her way to each of his assistants, making sure to make physical contact with them all, the desire she stoked in them causing her to feel stronger and stronger. Finally, she picked up the remaining blood in the silver chalice and took a satisfied gulp. Not bothering to wipe away the tiny drip that seeped from the corner of her mouth, she smiled seductively at the magisters. “Now…my Lady’s desires are very great…much power will be needed…”

Commodus crossed over to the demon and smoothly dropped to a knee. “They are, Allure…the children have already been given the potion…they should be quite biddable,” he said, hoping to be rewarded with another touch.

Allure gestured for him to stand and planted a kiss on his cheek. The coil in Commodus’ belly twisted even tighter and he felt himself start to strain against his smalls. _Too much, yet never enough…_ “And the husband?” She asked, pursing her lips into a tantalizing pout.

Commodus groaned and his eyelids fluttered in pleasure as her words struck a delicious chord within him. “I believe he is already fully taken by Lady Johane—“

Johane, who had awakened a few moments before, clamored to her feet. “Renly is a willing thrall, Allure…he lusts for power as much as I,” she barked.

“So nice to see you from _this_ perspective, my Lady,” Allure purred as she looked over her shoulder at the woman. “Tell me what you desire and I shall see that it’s done…it’s the least I can do for you being so good to me, helping me to return fully to this realm at last.”

Johane approached and spoke, her traitorous words low and rushed. “The Vaels must be overthrown, but Renly cannot seem to muster the power on his own. We need you to… _influence_ more of the Starkhaven nobility to our cause.”

Allure turned fully to Johane, a crooked smirk on her plush lips, yellow cat-like eyes dancing sinfully. “My Lady…so ambitious…do you have any idea the cost?”

Commodus broke in. “I will see to it that you drink of Vael blood, Allure.”

“I care not for Starkhaven blood…they drink too much,” Allure shot back. “No…I need the Veil to be torn— _here_ —so I can continue my work unabated. All I ask is that once this deed is done, you leave it torn.”

“Done,” Johane answered without hesitation. The thrill of having her desires so close to being fulfilled was positively exhilarating.

Allure cupped Johane’s cheeks, locking eyes with the mage. “And your children…they _will_ be mine to do as I wish with. I need their desires to fuel me.”

Johane nodded numbly. “They’re spoiled little shits anyway…except my Flora. I need her to legitimize my foothold in Starkhaven.”

Allure drew a slender index finger down Johane’s nose, pausing on her lips. “That can come after I have performed your task. Until then, I need her desires to be unchecked—whatever she wants, you _will_ give her. Is that clear?”

“Not a problem. We are the richest family in Kirkwall. Nothing is beyond the reach of our wallet,” Johane replied breathlessly, unable to repress her lust as she sucked the demon’s finger seductively.

“That’s exactly what I wanted to hear…shall we get started on breeching the Veil?” Allure said with a dark giggle.

Commodus, having already removed his heavy robe, gestured for his assistants to take the girl out of the basement as he unlaced his pants. Hooking his thumbs in the waistband of both the trousers and his smalls, Commodus pulled both garments down smoothly, stepping carefully out of them. He lay upon the table, waiting expectantly as Allure gingerly helped Johane out of her dress. Once both mages were naked and ready, Allure took the remaining blood in the chalice and drizzled it on Commodus.

“My Lady…to rend the Veil takes very powerful magics. Mount him. Only reaching completion while washed in blood shall you perform this task,” Allure hissed as she urged Johane to straddle Commodus’ bloodied form. Johane hesitated; she hadn’t ever been with another man, only Renly. Allure sensed the hesitation and grabbed Johane’s upper arm roughly. “How badly do you desire Starkhaven?”

“With all my soul, Allure,” Johane whispered as she mentally begged forgiveness from a husband who—no doubt—was at the Blooming Rose with a whore at that very moment. She climbed onto the table, assisted by the demon, and hovered over Commodus, hesitating again.

“Let me help you, my Lady,” Allure said as she waved her hand over Commodus’ face, giving Johane the illusion that he was actually Renly. Johane smiled weakly at the demon as she sank down on the Tevinter magister.

It was a quick, pleasureless thing for Johane as she moved against Commodus; her movements directed by the snake-like fingers of Allure on her hips, the demon’s sinful spell filling the ears of the two blood mages as Commodus started to arch his back underneath her. His grunts matched their pace and with no warning, he roared in release as Johane could feel his seed fill her.

As his hips jerked in orgasm, Johane could feel the blood that stained their skin start to stir. It was an uncomfortable, prickly-hot sensation, punctuated by a red-black cloud that enveloped them both as the blood evaporated into a fog. The cloud of blood swirled around them, quickening into a tornadic whirl. The cyclone spun faster and faster, bloody fog collapsing into itself until it reached a singularity. It burst then, the force of it blowing the mages apart and off of the table.

When Johane came to and lifted her head, she saw a sickly, purple haze where the table had been. Allure laughed darkly as three demons emerged and slinked up the stairs, headed to the study where the Harimann siblings were.

“It is done,” Allure purred as she approached Johane and helped her up. “Your desires shall be fulfilled…just as long as you keep your end of the bargain and do not close this tear.”

Commodus, having risen himself, crossed over to Johane and pulled her in for a heated kiss. “My beautiful Lady Johane…what magics we have made this day. Thank you again for your kind invitation.”

As Commodus kissed her again in the afterglow of their mating ritual, Johane couldn’t help the tiny spark of a new desire erupt as she reveled in this attention—this sort of touch she had long-craved but never gotten from Renly Harimann. _I desire to be rid of my cheating rat of a husband._

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

**_Kirkwall, Viscount’s Keep, two weeks later:_ **

Aidan Vael entered the Viscount’s Keep and looked around. _It’s been years since I was last in Kirkwall._ He looked over to Ryon, who seemed thoroughly unimpressed by the impossibly-high ceilings and austere masonry of the place.

“And here we are,” Ryon growled under his breath. “Here goes nothing…right, Your Highness?”

“Indeed,” Aidan muttered as he cast a sideways glance at Ryon. _What luck…Ewan uncovers Harimann’s plan to practically sell Kirkwall to Ferelden just to undermine the Starkhaven economy…either Renly has gotten incredibly reckless or I’m about to walk into the biggest trap ever laid._

Aidan and Ryon climbed the steps to the Viscount’s office. Standing outside the door was a firm, auburn-haired man with sharp features and a nasty sneer on his face.

“You must be the Seneschal. Mine often bears the burden of keeping people away from my office as well,” Aidan said as he extended a hand in greeting.

“Prince Aidan Vael of Starkhaven, I presume,” Seneschal Bran said icily. “The Viscount has been eagerly expecting your arrival ever since your letter arrived. Please…follow me.” He opened one of the double doors and gestured for the two men to enter, halting Ryon at the last moment. “Hold, please, Serah. I cannot have you with weapons in the Viscount’s office. Please, if you would, tie your sword.”

“Not a problem,” Ryon grumbled as he wrapped the retaining strap around the grip of his blade, knotting it securely and demonstrating that he could not pull the sword without untying it again. Bran nodded and allowed Ryon to enter the waiting area outside the Viscount’s office.

Bran strode confidently into Marlowe Dumar’s office, just ahead of Aidan and Ryon. “Viscount, if I could—“

“Aidan! My old friend! How are you?” Marlowe Dumar said cheerfully, abruptly rising from his chair and coming out to embrace Aidan tightly. “How long has it been—nearly a decade?”

“Sounds about right,” Aidan replied smoothly as Ryon and Bran retreated to distanced positions, both folding their arms across broad chests in an oddly-synchronized move. “I understand you got my letter and have been expecting me.”

“Yes, yes. Sit,” Dumar barked. Both men took their seats in plush, brocade-covered chairs. “It’s no surprise that Renly Harimann is up to old tricks, that’s for certain. Between you and me, he must be stopped.”

Ryon couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at his lips.

Aidan leaned back into the chair, thankful to be sitting in something other than a saddle for the first time in days. “Well, he’s been trying to get the nobility of Starkhaven to rise against my family for years. Until now, he hadn’t slipped up enough for me to pin anything on him directly, let alone appeal to an ally for help in this matter. When my spy brought news that he was essentially trying to go behind your back to make new trade deals on Kirkwall’s behalf…you can certainly understand why I said this was of the utmost importance.”

Dumar narrowed his eyes on Aidan. “He _cannot_ make trade deals on behalf of Kirkwall—not without my approval or being the Viscount himself—and he certainly hasn’t brought this to my attention. His actions…are disturbing. He’s a very wealthy man, Aidan. He has a lot of people in his pockets. I hate to admit it, but he could buy his way into this office quite easily—he simply hasn’t shown that he has the stomach to _eliminate me_ yet,” he said, giving a nervous cackle, the shrill sound of it unnerving.

Aidan’s gaze at Dumar turned into concern. “I hate to say it, but he may be gearing up for it. I know what he’s capable of all too well, sadly. He’s been trying to kidnap or kill members of my family—my children—for years. Just weeks ago I learned of a full coup in the early stages of planning. I cannot tell you how many have died under my blade and Ryon’s on charges of treason,” he said sorrowfully.

“The life of a ruler is not easy…I’m sorry you’ve had to suffer so long with no outside help,” the Viscount said, shaking his head softly.

Aidan let out a chuckle and waved his hand. “To be honest, I cannot help thinking this is all a big trap—that he discovered my spy and is setting both of us up to fail.”

Marlowe rolled his eyes and let out a frustrated huff. “I know what you mean. But the way we handle rabble-rousing nobility here…it’s a bit _different_. I take a hands-off approach, if you will. You’ll see. But before we go into the Assembly, let me get this straight…according to your man on the inside, Renly pledged a substantial amount of aid to Ferelden’s Queen for blight recovery, right?”

“Yes. And in return, he pledged that Kirkwall would swear fealty to the Ferelden Crown by way of exclusive trade rights. To make matters worse, his wife is a native of Starkhaven, as I’m sure you are aware. If she were to marry one of her children into a noble family—which she has been actively trying to do—she would have an undeniable foothold for her husband to take advantage of.”

Marlowe leaned back in his chair as though knocked back by the force of Aidan’s words, a stunned expression on his face. “So…unchecked, Renly Harimann could well take control of two principalities in the Free Marches and essentially hand them over to Ferelden?”

“That’s what it seems to be shaping up to be, yes.”

Marlowe nodded grimly. “Then it’s done. Come; let me show you how we handle things in Kirkwall.” He got up and crossed from behind his desk to stand beside Aidan’s chair.

Aidan rose, bowed slightly, and let Viscount Dumar lead him out of the office and further into the Keep, until they reached the Assembly Room. Acquiescing to Marlowe’s position, Aidan allowed him to take the lead in entering the council chamber. He followed soon after, standing beside Viscount Dumar as he took his place at the head of the oblong table. Scanning the faces, Aidan was relieved to see that Renly Harimann did not stand among the councilmen of Kirkwall on this day.

The Viscount cleared his throat to gain the attention of the bickering councilmen. “Gentlemen, I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve gathered you all here today,” he boomed, taking his seat. Aidan nodded politely at Marlowe and sat beside him. “Prince Aidan Vael of Starkhaven has brought troubling news to my attention. Would you care to take it from here, Your Highness?”

Aidan gave Dumar a thin smile. “Certainly, Your Highness. It seems that Lord Renly Harimann has pledged a substantial portion of his fortune to Queen Anora of Ferelden. In return, he has promised them a substantial increase in trade…exclusive rights, to be exact.”

Viscount Dumar interrupted Aidan. “Not only does Renly Harimann overstep his bounds, he obviously threatens the Viscount’s office in doing so. That alone is grounds for action. But as you no doubt know, Starkhaven has been Kirkwall’s largest trade partner for decades. Lord Harimann’s promise to the Ferelden crown would void any and all of our longstanding trade agreements with our fellow principality, causing a disruption in our economic stability. It is vital that the Free Marches act to protect our individual sovereignties. Lord Harimann’s pledge to Ferelden would make Kirkwall a vassal of the Crown in all but name.”

Aidan chimed in again. “In addition, Lord Harimann has taken it upon himself to meddle in the affairs of the Starkhaven royal family, making multiple attempts to kidnap or kill members of the Vael line, even offering to assist in staging a coup.”

One of the councilmen, a blonde man with a thick mustache, stood. “If Lord Renly Harimann were to gain power over two principalities, what’s to stop him from subjugating the rest of the Free Marches? He must be stopped!” _Orlesians in the Kirkwall nobility? How odd._

“Here, here!” came the chorus’ reply.

“I’m glad we are in agreement, then,” Aidan said with a sly smile. He looked at Viscount Dumar. “How do you deal with nobility who attempt to overstep their bounds?”

The same councilman stood again. “We take him out, that’s what we do in Kirkwall—right, men?”

The unified response of the council was quick to side with the councilman’s call for Renly’s head. Various councilmen offered up ways that Renly Harimann should be killed. Suggestions included beheading, eviscerating, drawing and quartering, shoving a foot up his ass so far it came out his mouth, and a host of other things that—in retrospect—Aidan wished he hadn’t heard.

As the men riled themselves up more and more with discussion of the coming fall of Renly Harimann, Viscount Dumar leaned into Aidan, whispering in his ear. “And that, my old friend, is how Kirkwallers deal with dissent. Our nobles…rather enjoy killing each other for sport, as you can tell. Speak with the blonde man after session—his name is Guillaume de Launcet. He will take care of the rest, I assure you. He has no love for Renly.”

Aidan nodded with a grim expression. “I thank you, Marlowe. No way would such a swift response happen in Starkhaven.”

Marlowe smiled. “Well, I’m just glad you wrote me when you did. We had a ship full of those damned Qunari land a few months ago, and I certainly didn’t need an idiot like Renly Harimann trying any funny business on top of _that_ headache.”

With that, the Viscount stood and slapped his palm against the thick oak table to get the council’s attention. “Gentlemen…that was all I needed to bring before you. Guillaume, would you stay behind, please? The rest of you are dismissed,” he said assertively. The men dispersed, but de Launcet stayed behind, putting his feet up on the chair next to his and threading his fingers behind his head. Marlowe gave Aidan, Ryon, and Guillaume nods and left the room. _So that’s how it is. He just looks the other way and lets the nobility self-police? We’ll see how this works, I guess._

“Prince Aidan Vael. You know, I have never had the pleasure of visiting fair Starkhaven? I hear it has the loveliest springs of all the Free Marches,” Guillaume said with a sly smile. “But dare I say I was not asked to stay behind in order to discuss the weather?”

Aidan shook his head firmly, grimacing. “No…it is not. I need to have assurance that Renly Harimann is taken down quickly. It is my understanding that the Red Iron is the best mercenary group in the city?”

“Yes, that they are. But they do not come cheaply, Your Highness.”

Aidan sat beside the noble, leaning in as though they might be overheard even though the room was empty save for the three men. “I am fully prepared to provide the funds. How much?”

“Let’s see…the last Lord I asked Meeran to eliminate set me back fifty sovereigns,” de Launcet offered with a wave of his hand.

“So…fifty gold…if I kick in ten extra just for you, will that help things go more quickly?” Aidan whispered in Guillaume’s ear.

De Launcet smiled brightly. “Oh, _most_ assuredly, Your Highness. That extra gold will ensure that I speak with the Iron tonight. They get results quickly. Before the end of the week, you will have no further trouble from him,” he said assuredly.

“Perfect. Thank you, Guillaume. Pleasure working with you. If you ever get a chance to visit fair Starkhaven, please…stop by the palace. I shall make you my dinner guest,” Aidan said crisply as he rose and approached the door. Ryon shot a glare at de Launcet before following his Prince.

Aidan practically skipped through the Keep, he was so glad to finally see an end in sight to his troubles with Renly Harimann. Ryon noticed the extra bounce in his step and smiled to himself. _It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Prince Vael almost…happy._ They walked together, out of the Keep, through the long colonnade, and down the steps to Hightown.

Aidan paused once they stood in the plaza just in front of the Keep’s stairway. “I know we need to get back on the road, Ryon…but could we just—“

“You want to go to the Chantry.”

Aidan nodded, a guilty look on his face.

Ryon looked at his Prince with concern. _I know he wants to see Sebastian…but…_ “Do you think that’s wise? Sebastian might find it disruptive.”

Aidan nodded slowly. “He will be upset…if I remember _anything_ of my boy, that is. I…I just want to look at him. I want to see with my _own_ eyes that he is safe. Then we can go, I promise.”

Ryon smiled at Aidan. “Have I ever refused an order from you, Your Highness?”

Fifteen minutes later, the pair stood at the ornate double doors of Kirkwall’s Chantry. Aidan thought he might pass out, he was so nervous. _What if he sees me? Will he be angry? Happy? Will I even recognize him?_

“Your Highness? Are you alright? You’re rather pale,” Ryon whispered.

“It’s just—I mean, it’s been five years…and we didn’t part on good terms, if you recall. Come on, let’s go in…daylight’s wasting,” Aidan said, pulling himself together for appearance’s sake. He flipped up the hood of his cape, pushed open the door, and together he and Ryon stepped into the Chantry.

The men looked around, amazed at how different this Chantry appeared from others they had been in. Most had a nave filled with pews for the parishioners, but in here it was a wide open space. Sweet incense smoke filled the air and made everything hazy. The slightest whisper echoed endlessly in the sparsely-filled room. They walked slowly along the red carpet leading to a crimson banner…and then they saw _it_.

The biggest statue of Andraste either had ever seen.

Dumbstruck, Aidan and Ryon stopped there, forgetting why they had come in the first place. But then the unmistakable sound of a Starkhaven accent among so many Kirkwallers rang out. Aidan immediately looked around, trying to pinpoint the source. He spotted him at last, walking with an elderly woman along the railing on the next floor up until they stopped right in front of the huge statue. Aidan found it difficult to fight the urge to call out to him, but managed to hold his tongue. _My boy…no… man. He’s a man, truly. Gavin was right…he does look just like Father when he was young. Look at him! He’s so tall and broad of shoulder…he must be practicing his archery every day. _

Tears started to prickle Aidan’s eyes as he watched the woman speak to Sebastian, concluding with a warm hug and a motherly pat on the head. Sebastian smiled broadly at her, his icy blue eyes crinkling at the corners. He let out a light chuckle, and the sound of it nearly caused Aidan’s heart to burst with joy. _He’s happy here…truly happy. Maker, thank you so very much for saving him. I’ll go…let him be at peace. Just…thank you for letting me see him again._ Aidan looked down, catching Ryon’s eye and tipping his head towards the door. Ryon—his own eyes shining—nodded and the pair turned their backs to where Sebastian stood with Elthina. They hesitated only briefly before exiting, with Aidan giving a final, sorrow-filled glance backward towards the sound of Sebastian’s voice before he left.

Sebastian caught sight of the two men in his peripheral vision just as they pushed the door open and turned to get a better look, but only managed to get the briefest glance at one’s face just as he turned back towards the open door. _Was that--? No…it couldn’t be. He has no reason to be in Kirkwall._ Sebastian shrugged it off and resumed nodding his head to whatever it was Elthina was talking about. He soon found himself so distracted by who he thought he had seen that he finally excused himself and returned to quarters.

_If that really was Father…why didn’t he say anything?_

**_0-0-0-0-0_ **

**_Kirkwall Docks, two weeks later:_ **

“What are we doing again, Sister?” Carver Hawke grumbled as he trotted to keep up with the slender mage.

Aspasia turned around, walking backwards as she spoke to her younger brother. “We’re doing this as a favor for Meeran. He’s lost some guys on this job before and it’s become personal. We take out this guy named Lord Harimann, and make sure Gustav gets out alive.”

A red-haired woman, built like a brick shithouse, casually strode with the siblings. “What did this guy Harimann do, anyway?”

Aspasia shrugged. “I don’t know, and I don’t care. The main thing I’ve learned working with the Red Iron so far is to not ask too many questions, Aveline. All I know is that the Iron was contracted to kill this guy a couple of weeks ago and didn’t get it done. We’re just going to swoop in, clean up the mess, and get Gustav out of there. Easy as pie. Should help get us some of the more prime assignments if we can get this done where others failed, right?”

“So now you’re dragging me along on one of your assassination jobs,” Aveline grumbled. “You Hawkes and your way of getting me into trouble…”

“You can sit this one out if you like, Aveline. Remember…you’re not contracted like we are,” Carver offered.

The redhead waved away Carver’s offer. “Ah, well, I sense a fight is brewing. We _are_ on the docks, after all. You’ll need my skills, I’m sure of it.”

Aspasia smiled at Aveline. “You sure that isn’t just an excuse for hovering over me?” She asked teasingly.

Aveline folded her arms across her chest and cocked her head to the side. “You know you love it, Hawke. You’re the only family I have. I _will_ protect you, whether you like it or not.”

“Yes, _Sir_ ,” Carver muttered sarcastically.

Aspasia paused, holding up a finger to her lips in order to shush the others. “Two things, you two,” she hissed. “First of all, Carver…quit insinuating that Aveline is a man. Surely, you’re giving her a complex. Second, looks like Gustav is in a world of trouble. _Showtime_!” Aspasia cried as she cast a firestorm on Harimann’s guards. Gustav shrieked and cowered, curling up neatly into a ball that kept him from suffering much damage from the magical flames. A few swipes of blades later, and Gustav found he was being helped up by fellow mates of the Iron.

“Well done…bravo,” a voice behind Aspasia oozed. She turned, finding herself face-to-face with who could only have been Lord Renly Harimann. “I should hire you three to be my new guardsmen…seeing as I obviously am in need,” he said as he gestured towards the slain guards at the trio’s feet.

“Renly Harimann?” Aspasia asked, eyeing the noble.

“ _Lord_ Renly Harimann, if you please,” he replied coldly.

“Oh…my _apologies_ , my Lord. Please accept this message from Meeran,” Aspasia said sarcastically as she gut-checked the man with the butt of her staff. He doubled over and she took the opportunity to draw her belt knife across his wrinkled throat. Renly let out a gargled _hkkkk_ and flopped onto his side as the blood drained from his body.

Aspasia wiped her blade and returned it to the sheath. “Come on…let’s go give Meeran the good news,” she said crisply. The trio, now joined by a very shaken Gustav, left Lord Renly Harimann to bleed out on the docks, left to the mercy of the elements and the seagulls. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first part of this chapter came to me when I started a new DA2 playthrough a couple of nights ago. When I read through Flora's diary entries during Repentance, I wanted to explore that a bit more.  
> For the spell in "Arcanum" (Latin): In blood we are born, in blood we die / We are sworn in the blood, under watchful eye / Guide my right hand while I cut with this blade / This cut, it is a brand; this magic, it is made. I just made it up, but don't blame me if you recite it out loud and freaky shit happens. This is the next to last chapter in Act II, so do expect the next chapter to have a lot going on as well. Also, school starts for me on Monday. Once we hit Act III, do expect updates to slow quite a bit. Part of it is school, part of it is that I don't have those chapters quite as well-planned as this Act was. As always, thanks for reading/recommending/giving mad love. :-)


	26. Miserere Mei (Have Mercy on Me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian Vael takes his vows. Ceremony inspired by the Latin Rite of Ordination, with obvious modifications.

_**Kirkwall, eight months later:** _

Sebastian sat on a stone bench in the Chantry garden, watching the light of the sunrise bathe the foliage in warm yellow-orange light. He let his eyes close as he breathed in and out slowly, clearing his thoughts. Then came the time of day that Sebastian had come to enjoy the most; the private conversations he had with the Maker.

_Maker, I come to you as your humble servant. What would you have of me this day?_

Sometimes the Maker would respond directly; a vision would creep into his mind, or sometimes a voice would come instead. Today, however, Sebastian got the most typical response—silence. Most people—even the majority of those serving in the Kirkwall Chantry—would take this as a _non_ -response, but not Sebastian. Since he made the decision to leave his life in the Maker's hands, even silence was meaningful to him. As the sounds of chirping birds crept into his mind, Sebastian heard the Maker loud and clear—today, like every day for the past several months, he would live quietly, in contemplation of the Maker's many works.

Sebastian smiled to himself and thanked the Maker for his wisdom. He opened his eyes and looked around, taking in a lungful of the sweet morning air. _Yes. I will live today in contemplation of the Maker's miraculous creations. But first…practice._ Sebastian rose from the stone bench and picked up the bow and quiver that he had set beside him while he meditated. He walked along the pea-graveled path until he reached the open area at the rearmost part, which Elthina had graciously allowed him to set up as a practice range. Stringing his bow and nocking an arrow were as natural as breathing to him after all these years, and in moments Sebastian was lining up his first shot. _Even though there is no use for my talent here in the Chantry, there is something about the beautiful simplicity of target practice that helps me stay focused on being well and living for the Maker._ He released the shot smoothly, and the missile whizzed through the air, striking the center of the target. The next several arrows flew just as straight and true, and Sebastian was soon so lost in the simple joy of his archery that he didn't hear the footsteps approaching him.

"Sebastian," the soft, feminine voice called as a hand gently touched his shoulder. Sebastian released his held shot and turned to see Elthina smiling up at him. "It's about time. I've been trying to get your attention for a bit."

Sebastian lowered the bow to his side and returned the Grand Cleric's smile. "Yes, Elthina? What can I do for you this morning?"

"I need to talk to you, privately—once you're done out here, of course. Please, come to my office once you've finished your practice," she said warmly.

"Of course, Elthina. I shouldn't be too much longer; I've only got a few arrows left and it's really starting to warm up out here," Sebastian replied smoothly. Elthina nodded and turned to go back to the Chantry as Sebastian pulled another arrow from his quiver. She stopped just outside the door and watched as he fired off another perfect shot, shaking her head lightly. _The lad has talents that I'd hate to see go to waste here, but if the life of a Brother is what he wants…at least I can allow him to indulge in this innocent hobby._

Several minutes later, Sebastian fired off the last of his arrows and walked the distance between his shooting line and the target, picking up the pair of missed shots along the way. He carefully pulled the rest of his arrows from the bull's-eye, inspecting them before placing them in his quiver again. _Thank the Maker that I didn't ruin another shaft. I really need to find a place to get fletching materials, and quick._ He returned to his quarters and washed up, putting on his Chantry robes before making his way to Elthina's office. Knocking lightly on the door, Sebastian furrowed his brows as he pondered what it could be that the Grand Cleric wanted of him. A muffled _come in_ was his cue to open the door.

Elthina sat at her desk, shuffling through paperwork and stacking it neatly on one side. "I suppose you're wondering why I want to speak to you today, Sebastian. Please, sit down," she said as the archer entered the room. He obeyed, sitting on the edge of one of the velvet-covered chairs. "Tell me, child…are you happy here?"

Sebastian arched an eyebrow. "Grand Cleric?"

Elthina fidgeted with the signet ring on her finger and looked up through silvery eyelashes. "It's a simple yes or no, Sebastian. No surprises, no traps. Are you happy?"

Sebastian paused, but he didn't have to think much about his answer; the months that had passed since he vowed to let the Maker's hand guide his life had been the most peaceful, calm, and fulfilling of his young life. _Do I miss the drinking, the whoring? Maybe a little bit. Mostly being around others, but I get that here…sort of. It's different, but good. Waking up clear-headed, with no question about where I am or how I got there? Infinitely better. I do miss Alistair, though…and Madeline and Shoshanna. Oh well…if the Maker sees fit, he will provide me with a special friend like that again._

"I am _quite_ happy, Elthina," Sebastian responded softly as he smiled to himself. "Happier than I ever recall being, really."

Elthina reached across the desk, holding her hand out for Sebastian to take. He gingerly took it, and she rubbed her thumb over his knuckles, much like his Gran used to do. "I'm so very glad to hear that, Sebastian. You have certainly shown a renewed dedication to your faith, that much is clear. So much so, in fact, that I do believe you are ready to take your vows."

Sebastian's jaw dropped. "My vows? Really?" _So soon? I mean, I know I'm ready, but for Elthina to see such a change in me…wow. I'm touched._

Elthina smiled broadly and nodded as she withdrew her hand and leaned back in her chair. "Yes. Now, I know you wrote to your father and told him of your plans…do you wish to let him know about this first? You will also need a sponsor—a fellow clergy member. One of the older Brothers or Sisters will do, or if you'd like someone from Val Royeaux, Denerim, or even Starkhaven to come, that's fine too."

Sebastian shook his head adamantly, causing a stray lock to fall into his eyes. "No…I think I'd rather just go forward with this. I can't imagine he'd be able to leave Starkhaven. But I can't think of anybody I'd feel comfortable asking to sponsor me…" he trailed off, looking down at the floor. _In all my years in the Chantry, have I truly been unable to form a friendship with any clergy members? All of my friends since I left home have been outsiders—even Alistair to an extent. How sad is that? No wonder it took me so long to feel at peace here._

Elthina sensed Sebastian's loneliness and cleared her throat. "Well, in that case, I would be more than happy to sponsor you. I am investing two Sisters at tomorrow's morning service. You can join them, but I realize that doesn't give you much time to prepare yourself. The choice is yours."

 _This is why you returned to the Chantry that night. The Maker has guided you to this path, this moment. Say yes. Take your vows._ Sebastian looked up with a cocked head and an easy smile. "Tomorrow will be fine…and I'd consider it an honor if you'd serve as my sponsor. What does a sponsor do, anyway?"

"All a sponsor does is ensure sure you keep the faith properly. You would have had one when you were affirmed in the faith as a boy. In the case of a newly-invested Brother or Sister, the sponsor helps them transition into the sworn life. As such, the sponsor must be a servant of the Chantry in some capacity," Elthina said calmly.

Sebastian swallowed hard. _What if I can't do this…what if I stray?_ "Will anything…um… _change_?"

Elthina pursed her lips as she considered the loaded question. _He's afraid he'll stray. Considering his past, I can't say I blame him._ "Well, not really…except that you will be held firm to Chantry doctrine should you stray. If you were to get caught sneaking out, for example, you would be lashed. If you did it a second time, you would be placed on suspension. A third violation would get you stripped of your position and removed from the Chantry. As you can see…a _bit_ more harsh than merely being confined to quarters for being caught fornicating in the Chantry," she said with a wry smile.

 _She knows about that? What else does she know?_ "Understood, Elthina. Believe me when I say I never want to go back to those wicked ways," the archer responded with a grim expression.

"Excellent. Glad to hear it. Now I'm going to dismiss you from your other duties for today. I want you to take a light meal now, and then spend the rest of the day in meditation. Really think about this, Sebastian. This is a huge step for you, one that's not easily undone."

"I know, Elthina, but I can't imagine wanting to undo everything I've worked so hard for. I'll…see you in the morning?" Sebastian asked as he rose from his chair.

Elthina nodded and smiled. "Bright and early, Sebastian. If you'd like to familiarize yourself with the vows—"

"I'm aware of what they are. I do spend most of my time in the archive room, after all," Sebastian interrupted as he gave the Grand Cleric a slight bow.

"Of course. I'll see you tomorrow, then," Elthina said as the archer left her office. _Maker, I hope this isn't too fast for him, but he certainly seems to be ready to take this step. Guide him as he makes peace with his past and prepares to give up everything he's ever known to walk in the light of your glory._

Nearly twenty-four hours later, after a night of fitful sleep interspersed with prayer, Sebastian washed away the last of his shaving soap and inspected his chin for any stray whiskers. Satisfied that he had gotten them all, he smoothed a light balm on his cheeks to stave off razor burn. Butterflies filled Sebastian's stomach as he pulled on his robes. All too often in his twenty-two years, his nerves were riled up for all the wrong reasons— _fear_ of getting caught out past curfew, _thrill_ as he undressed his lass-du-jour, _dread_ as he awaited his latest round of punishment.

Today, though, was different. In fact, Sebastian would dare say these weren't really nerves at all—merely his soul _rejoicing_ in the knowledge he was soon to take a step that just a year ago seemed implausible, if not downright impossible. He grabbed his boar-bristle hairbrush and smoothed back his hair, giving himself a final look-over in the mirror before leaving his quarters to join the other two taking their vows today as well.

"Magritte…Catherine," Sebastian said politely as he met up with his fellow initiates. Before coming to Kirkwall, he would have openly leered at Catherine. She was just the kind of girl he used to fancy a quick romp with; petite, pale, curvy, with a glint in her eyes that said—deep down—she could be a wicked handful. _She's always giving me The Look. Thank the Maker that I've been able to resist such a temptress._

"Sebastian," the ladies responded in unison, bowing their heads slightly. Magritte took the lead, being the eldest of the three—a childless widow that had opted to cloister herself rather than seek another marriage—and they quickly made their way down from the dormitory floor towards the nave.

They walked in a row, feet synchronized, heads down, as they gathered in front of the huge statue of Andraste on the dais. Grand Cleric Elthina smiled. "Greetings, my children," she said warmly. Two Sisters, unfamiliar to Sebastian, stood off to the side, well out of the way. _Must be the others' sponsors._

"Good Morning, Grand Cleric," the three responded reverently.

"Now, we only have a few minutes until services start. This is your last chance—are you absolutely sure you are ready to take your vows today?" Elthina asked, giving a particularly pointed look at Catherine. The young woman shifted uncomfortably, blushing.

"I—I'm not sure, Grand Cleric. I'm sorry," the blonde whispered.

Elthina placed a hand on the girl's shoulder, stooping over to catch her downcast eyes. "It's quite alright, Catherine. I'd rather you wait until you're fully prepared—you're scarcely eighteen. Why don't you go take your place among the choir for today's service? We can talk later, if you'd like."

"Thank you, Grand Cleric," Catherine replied, choking a bit. She quickly swiped away an errant tear as she turned to join the singing group. One of the Sisters, a dark-skinned woman who appeared to be from Rivain, nodded politely at Elthina as she followed the young blonde.

"And the two of you?" Elthina asked, turning back to Sebastian and Magritte, "You're ready?"

"Yes, Grand Cleric," Sebastian said firmly, while Magritte nodded. A pair of young boys arrived, bearing a towel, a silver basin, a bottle of oil, and two red sashes.

Elthina acknowledged the boys and gestured for them to stand beside the morbidly obese Sister, who obviously was there to sponsor Magritte. "Good. You've both seen investment ceremonies before, so nothing should be a big surprise. Congratulations, you two. You've both come a long way to reach this point."

"Thank you," the pair replied as Elthina turned to face the congregation.

"Blessed morning to you all, fair people of Kirkwall," the Grand Cleric boomed, her voice strong and clear.

"And also to you," came the chorus reply.

Elthina looked to the ceiling and raised her hands. "Today the Maker has given to us an overabundance of blessings. Today, we will ordain two brand new initiates of the Faith! Please, join me in congratulating Sebastian and Magritte as they take their vows." The crowd burst into polite applause.

One member of the congregation, however, was stunned as she recognized one of the initiates who stood on the dais. Flora Harimann shifted in her seat. _How long has Sebastian been in Kirkwall, and how have I never noticed before? Maker, he turned out to be a handsome man. Perhaps I'll speak to him after the service—invite him over for tea. Mother would be so happy to see a familiar face. It's been years since she last went to Starkhaven._

Sebastian soon found his nervous excitement so overwhelming that he could scarcely pay attention to the service. He just kept repeating the vows in his mind over and over until a sharp kick to his shin snapped him back to reality. He looked over at Magritte, annoyed, until he realized that the Grand Cleric was looking at him expectantly. All he could do was give her a crooked little smile in apology.

Elthina blinked hard, cleared her throat, and asked the question again. "And who is to sponsor you today, Sebastian?"

"I am Sebastian's sponsor," a voice boomed from near the double doors before Sebastian could open his mouth. A figure in black armor with Seeker insignia on the chest strode forward, pulling off his helm as he came into view. The entire room watched, stunned, as the man walked up the stairs and towards the dais as though he owned the Chantry.

If the Maker was truly listening to Sebastian's thoughts, he surely ignored the string of profanity that coursed through his brain as the man approached, because no lightning bolts had rained down upon him… _yet_.

Elthina gave the man a skeptical look, speaking low. "And you are?"

"My name is Richard," he said loud enough for the congregation to hear before ducking in and whispering in Elthina's ear. "I am a member of the Seekers of Truth and, as such, eligible to sponsor an initiate. I have been Sebastian's personal bodyguard since he arrived in Val Royeaux, and thus have a vested interest in ensuring that this young man sticks to his vows. You will not find one more vigilant than I."

 _I suppose I can't argue that a Seeker would fail in_ _any_ _task, least of all this._ "Very well," Elthina muttered and went on to call up Magritte's sponsor, Sister Ethel, from her home Chantry in Ostwick. Richard smiled and took his place beside Sebastian. Sebastian, for his part, had hid his surprise well.

"What are you doing here," Sebastian hissed out of the corner of his mouth.

The Seeker's light gray-green eyes pierced holes through Sebastian. "I'm here to watch you make the biggest mistake of your life, that's what. You're an _idiot_. But if this is what you want, I'm going to make _damn_ sure you stick to these vows," Richard shot back, giving the archer a smirk. "I also have news for you, once the service is over."

"First to be initiated will be Sebastian Vael. Sebastian, if you would…kneel, please," Elthina said crisply, getting rather irritated by Sebastian's inattention. _Today, of all days, he picks to not pay a lick of attention to anything? Maker, grant me patience..._

Sebastian nodded reverently towards Elthina and knelt before her on a padded stool. She placed her hands on his head, and Richard placed his on the archer's shoulders.

"My dear child, you are about to be consecrated into Brotherhood. Receive this honor worthily and strive to use it in a praiseworthy manner. Your duties are to bless, to govern, to preach, and to baptize. You should take this on with great reverence, and the utmost care must be taken to represent yourself with wisdom, upright character, and a virtuous life," Elthina said clearly, serenely, for the congregation to hear.

Richard gripped Sebastian's shoulders a little harder, almost as though he were holding the archer down on the kneeler. _As if I would be so stupid as to get up and run. A year ago, perhaps…but not today. Not ever again._

Elthina gave him a discreet, gentle pat on the head as she continued. "Therefore, my dear child, chosen as you are to be consecrated as a Brother, keep yourself blameless in a life of chastity and sanctity. Be well aware of the sacredness of your duties. Be holy as you deal with holy things. Let the doctrine you expound be spiritual medicine for the Maker's Children. By your preaching and example may you help to build up the edifice which is the Holy Chantry. May it never come about that we, for promoting you to so great a position, or you, for taking it onto yourself, should deserve the Maker's condemnation; but rather may we merit a reward from Him. So let it be by His grace."

As Elthina spoke, Sebastian's mind whirled with flashes of his past; the women, the drunken escapades, the fighting. His mind's eye paused on the memory of Colleen, of their first night together. He felt the softness of her pale flesh under his fingertips just as though it were yesterday and although he missed her terribly, he knew that the Maker had taken her from him for a reason. _I need to let her go…for her soul's sake and mine. I took care of her—I avenged her. Now it's time. Time to take care of me. In my dreams, she begs me to do this._

"So let it be," the congregation answered.

And with those words, Sebastian let go of those carnal memories, letting them fade away like wisps of incense smoke. _She will always be in my heart…but keeping those sorts of memories so close will do me no good as I try to stick to my vows._

Richard was rather surprised that Sebastian didn't flinch at all at mention of the word chastity. _Maybe this little show of faith is real…maybe he has finally turned over a new leaf. This might not be as entertaining to watch as I thought…damn._

As soon as she pulled her hands away from his head, Sebastian looked up at Elthina, who took the bottle of anointing oil in her hands. The two boys flanked her, one holding the basin with the towel draped over his forearm, while the other held the red sashes. Sebastian offered his hands while the boy with the bowl knelt down and held it underneath. Elthina uncorked the bottle of oil and slowly drizzled it in a circular pattern over Sebastian's open palms, the excess running off into the basin which was now below. Once done, she placed a single hand on Sebastian's head as she lifted the other to the sky, again looking for the Maker's divine favor.

Sebastian could feel the comforting warmth of the Maker's grace descend from the sky, through Elthina, and into him. It briefly reminded him of that first tingle when he took a long pull of rum. _But that always took so much from me…left me empty…where the Maker's grace gives me such complete joy._

"Almighty Maker, we pray that you bestow on this servant of yours the dignity of the Brotherhood. Renew in his heart the spirit of holiness, so that he may be steadfast in this position received from you, Maker, and by his own life suggest a rule of life to others. May he be a prudent fellow-worker in our ministry. May he shine in all the virtues, so that he will be able to give a good account of the stewardship entrusted to him and finally attain the reward of everlasting blessedness. We ask this through your Blessed Bride Andraste, O Maker, forever and ever."

Sebastian put his hands together, discreetly rubbing the oil in, and then took the towel to dab off the excess. Elthina gestured for him to stand and took one sash from the other boy, wrapping it around Sebastian's waist several times, knotting it securely and tucking the ends under.

And just like that, with that simple knot, the deed was done.

No longer would he be styled His Serene Highness Sebastian Vael, Son of Prince Aidan Vael of Starkhaven, fourth in line to the throne. Now he was simply Brother Sebastian, surnames being a useless thing in the Chantry. _Finally. A purpose…a duty…when for so much of my life I had none. The third son of a Prince. What a wasted existence I led. And for what? The hope that I might lead an army someday against some enemy that Starkhaven doesn't even have? An empty title for a worthless rake. Good riddance._ The burdens of royal life were things of the past now, and Sebastian never realized how much they had pressed upon him until this moment. It was an unexpected liberation, and one that he found most pleasing.

Magritte's part of the ceremony went by in a blur as Sebastian reveled in the warm embrace of the Maker's grace, and before he knew it, Elthina was concluding the Rite.

"O Maker, the source of all holiness, whose consecration is ever effective, whose blessing is ever fulfilled, pour out on these servants of yours the gift of your blessing. By their noble and exemplary lives let them prove that they are really elders of the people. Let them meditate on your words day and night, so that they may believe what they have read, and teach what they have believed, and practice what they have taught. May justice, constancy, mercy, courage, and all the other virtues be reflected in their every way of acting. May they inspire others by their example, and hearten them by their admonitions. May they keep pure and spotless the gift of their high calling. We ask this in your name, O Maker."

"So let it be," the congregation cried. And for the first time in his life, really, Sebastian felt truly clean and pure. _Born again, if such a thing were possible._

In a surprising twist, Sebastian was asked to give the closing remarks to the congregation. He swallowed hard, feeling rather unprepared, but as he approached the pulpit and looked back at Elthina's gentle smile, he found that words came rather easily to him.

Sebastian looked out into the crowd and began to speak, his distinctive Starkhaven accent giving a soothing lilt to his words as they echoed off the stone walls. "Ladies and Gentlemen, as you go forth to carry out your weekly works, keep in your hearts that the Maker has given to you the gift of endless possibilities. Ask yourselves not only what you can do for your family, but what you can do for your fellow man. There are many refugees from Ferelden seeking shelter from a most terrible Blight; we should do all we can to help them. Our kindness now will be repaid in this life and in the next. Go forth, serve the Maker. So let it be."

"So let it be," the congregation replied as the mass of people started to shift about in their seats, ready to be done with the longer-than-average service.

"Very nice, Sebastian," Elthina said sweetly. "I couldn't be prouder of you. I'm sure you'd like to speak with your sponsor. When you're done, there will be cake up in my office."

"Thank you, Elthina," Sebastian said with a broad grin.

"That was very nicely done," Richard said as he patted Sebastian's back. _I'm honestly surprised by how well he spoke to the congregation._ "Let's go have a chat, shall we?"

"Aye," Sebastian muttered as he led Richard down from the dais and down to the main floor, leading him to the rear door which led out to the gardens.

Flora had just started to approach the stairs leading up to the dais when she saw the Seeker pat Sebastian on the back and smile. _Ah. Well, I can always come back later. I suppose Mother will be expecting me shortly, anyway._ She turned and left the Chantry, walking the short distance to the Harimann estate, still amazed that a scoundrel like Sebastian Vael could turn it all around to become an ordained Brother.

Richard and Sebastian walked in silence until they reached a stone bench near where Sebastian practiced his archery. "Relax," Richard whispered as Sebastian's lips formed a thin line. "Unless you have a hidden lair out here as well. I'm merely bringing you news like you asked."

Sebastian sat, let out a breath, and slumped a bit. "You were able to track Shoshanna?"

Richard remained standing, and if Sebastian didn't know him so well, he would be rightly frightened out of his mind to have such a foreboding figure casting his shadow over him. "No. I didn't have time to make it to Antiva yet. But I did find the other one you asked after…Alistair."

Sebastian sat up, eyes wide, as he gasped. "He's… _alive_? Maker's breath! I heard about what happened at Ostagar and feared the worst!" _When I sent you to find him, Richard, I really was asking you to tell me where he was buried…but this is the best possible news I could have ever dared hope for._

Richard sat beside Sebastian and gave him a sly grin. "Alive, well, and just-so-happens to be the last living Theirin in Ferelden. The Landsmeet convened a fortnight ago, just before the Archdemon was slain. He's been asked to take the throne."

"Did he ever find—"

"A _mate_? Not one that traveled with him, as far as I could tell," Richard interrupted with a soft snort. "The Bann of Rainesfere spoke of having him marry Cailan's widow, but I hear that was soundly rejected. However, he does wear an odd necklace and is constantly touching it. Seems to be a favor, if I had to place a bet on its origin."

 _He_ would _do that if a lass gave him her favor. The man is the very definition of chivalrous, that's for sure._ "Good on him, then. I'm glad he's well. Perhaps someday I'll get to take leave and travel a bit…go to Denerim and visit him," Sebastian muttered as he wrung his hands.

Richard furrowed his brows. "You wouldn't take the opportunity to return to Starkhaven if you had leave to do so?"

"Of course, that would be my priority," Sebastian replied quickly before growing quiet. "But Alistair is—was—my best friend. I would like to see him again."

"Speaking of friends…I know you didn't ask me to, but I stopped in Starkhaven. I couldn't remember the last time I spoke with my friend Scott," Richard muttered.

"Scott?"

Richard chastised himself lightly before responding. "Um, you would know him as one of the Royal Guard—there he goes by his surname, Fordham. Anyway, your family is also doing quite well. Corbinian just welcomed a third child, and Gavin's wife is about five months along with their first," Richard said, chuckling. "Apparently, he is still _quite_ shocked that she conceived. Aileen is betrothed to a son of Kirkwall nobility—though his name escapes me at the moment—and Hannah has said she wants to follow in your footsteps and become a Sister."

Sebastian smiled to himself as he looked at his clasped hands. "And my parents?"

"Your father is the most relaxed I've seen him in years. Seems the death of Robbie MacSwain did much to cool the heads of the nobility. Your mother is reveling in being a grandmother. She's getting a bit of gray in her hair, a bit thicker 'round the middle, and it really suits her." Richard let out a sigh. "Your Gran isn't doing well, though. Her body is fine, but her mind is gone. She barely recognizes your mother, and that's only because she is constantly watching over her. Still has her wit, which is a small consolation, I guess."

Sebastian shook his head, recalling the last time he saw her—the night she mistook Alistair for his uncle Alec. It was difficult to imagine that she was even more out of it now. "Poor lady. Loses Grandda so suddenly, and now this."

"For what it's worth, she seems perfectly happy," the Seeker replied with a shrug.

Sebastian frowned. "I hate to say it, but I'm kind of glad that I'm unlikely to see her again. I'm not sure I could handle her not knowing me."

"No…no, I understand. She's not the Gran you grew up with. Better to remember her as she was," Richard said quietly as he patted Sebastian's shoulder. "Anyway, that's the extent of the news I had for you. We ought to get up to the Grand Cleric's office before there's no cake left," he chided, voice a bit brighter now.

"Right," Sebastian mumbled as he got up and followed Richard back into the building, a bit lost in memories of his sweet Gran.

"Where's the cake?" Richard boomed as they entered the Grand Cleric's office and saw nothing but a cake plate with crumbs on her desk.

"I think the cake was a lie," Sebastian muttered.

Sister Petrice approached the pair, her eyes narrowing on the new Brother. "Oh, there _was_ cake. But you two took too long in getting here…did you _see_ Magritte's sponsor? I think she had to sew together three robes just to cover herself. Anyway, if you have a grievance to file regarding the lack of cake, talk to _her_ ," the blonde growled.

"That's fine…I didn't really need cake, anyway. Gotta watch what I eat or else this armor just doesn't fit right," Richard said with a smirk as he patted his flat belly. Petrice gave him a once-over, blushing when she met the Seeker's eyes and realized she'd been caught in the act.

Richard turned to Sebastian. "I should really get going. The work of the Seekers never ceases for long." He walked back out of Elthina's office, Sebastian hot on his heels.

"Richard?" Sebastian asked, reaching out and grabbing the Seeker's arm as he descended the staircase.

Richard stopped and turned, a bemused smile on his lips as he looked up at Sebastian. "Yes?"

Sebastian folded his arms across his chest. "How did you know I was taking my vows today?"

Richard fidgeted with the helm in his hands. "I got in to Kirkwall yesterday afternoon. When I came here asking after you, one of the Sisters told me you were in isolation, preparing to take your vows this morning. Why?"

"It just seems like you're always turning up out of nowhere. Kind of creepy, to be honest."

Richard smirked. " _You_ just don't pay enough attention to your surroundings. If you did, you'd see me lurking in the shadows nearly all the time. Every man has his talent, Sebastian. Mine happens to be sneaking around, spying on people, making pre-emptive strikes against those who would harm you."

Sebastian gave the Seeker a puzzled look. "How many pre-emptive strikes are we talking about?"

Richard rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "It's best you not know. _Really_. I'm not sure you could handle the truth. Just know that guarding you was a full-time job," he whispered.

"Was?" Sebastian asked, taken aback. _Is this it? Has Richard been reassigned? Will this be the last I see of him? Maker…why does everybody leave me?_

"Since the deaths of Robbie MacSwain and Renly Harimann, I haven't had to thwart a single assassin," Richard said, talking to his helmet. He looked up and saw the concern on the young archer's face. "But don't worry; I will remain vigilant until the Divine gives me new orders." _Though I enjoy watching after you so much that I might just tell the Divine to shove it if she ever does such a thing…_

Sebastian visibly relaxed. "Thank you, Richard…for _everything_. I mean it," he said, icy blue eyes gazing honestly into gray-green. "Even though I totally ignored what you said about not taking vows."

Richard extended a hand. "May the Maker's grace shine upon you, Brother Sebastian."

"And also on you, Seeker Richard. Until we meet again," Sebastian said, taking Richard's hand and clasping his other on the man's forearm.

"Yes…until we meet again," Richard muttered, breaking the handshake as he spun on his feet and walked away.

Sebastian watched Richard leave, considering what he had said about his family doing well now. _I know it's because I finally settled down, because Robbie MacSwain is no more. Even Richard doesn't have to work so hard to protect me. That's how I know I made the right choice. Will I miss my family? Of course…but if this is what it takes to ensure they're safe and happy, then this was the right decision to make. It's downright shameful how long it took me to realize this._

**END ACT II**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A/N: Kind of calling an audible on this one. I had planned to have another Certain Event occur in this chapter, but I just feel like the Act needed to end here—to complete the journey of Sebastian from rake to Brother—before his world gets turned upside down. ~~Totally not avoiding slaughtering the Vaels. Nope.~~ There's going to be a bit of a break here, as I have some stuff going on in my personal life that I need to sort through. ~~And I don't wanna kill off an entire family.~~ I'll be back before you know it, though. Don't worry. :-)_


	27. Johane's Inferno

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johane Harimann arrives in Starkhaven, and Hell follows with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a Beta now! Thank you so much, Kira Tamarion! And of course, any outstanding errors are my own.

**_Starkhaven, two weeks later:_ **

Johane Harimann ascended the staircase of Baron Stuart's guest home and quickly located the master bedroom, gesturing for her servant to bring in the travel trunk. As she lit the wall sconces, she looked around her new room and let out an inelegant snort.  _Such squalid conditions, for the mother of the future Princess of Starkhaven. Baron Stuart should be ashamed that he couldn't secure more suitable housing. But I suppose…better to lay low while I do my work. Once the crown is in Goran's hands, then I can start living the life I deserve._ The more she thought about the house's condition, the more she realized that it wasn't uninhabitable; it just wasn't decorated to her taste, and it was considerably smaller than her posh Kirkwall estate. The revelation was of little comfort, but she needed Baron Stuart too much to start throwing a hissy fit because she didn't like the rug in the foyer.

Johane started to unpack her belongings, but was interrupted by a sharp knock at the door that made her jump.

"My Lady," Baron Stuart said as he poked his head through the barely-cracked door. "I see you're settling in. Is there anything you require?"

_Only about a thousand sovereigns so I can start redecorating this dump?_ "No, I'm fine, Baron Stuart. These accommodations are more than adequate, I assure you," Johane replied curtly.

"I'm relieved to hear it. And please, call me—"

"Let's just keep this professional, Baron," Johane interrupted.

Baron Stuart slumped a bit, disappointed. "Very well, Lady Harimann. As you wish. Now, if you're ready, the others are waiting at the meeting place."

"I am. Let's go." Baron Stuart offered his arm, which she accepted haughtily. Once downstairs, they saw Brennen MacSwain enter the guesthouse, eyes red.

"Brennen…I thought you were going to reunite with Caera?" Johane asked, surprised to see the man had his pack slung over a shoulder.

"She has…moved on," he said bitterly. "That's why she didn't respond to any of my letters after I got to Kirkwall. Apparently, all this time she thought me dead. She petitioned the Seneschal to have me declared as such and remarried last year."

Johane stiffened.  _All the more reason to do this._ "And the Seneschal, as I recall—"

"Is Gavin Vael. Yes, I know." Brennen disappeared into one of the small bedchambers, emerging without his pack a few moments later. "How terribly convenient," he muttered as the trio left Baron Stuart's modest guest house.

It was a short walk to the meeting place—Baron Ewan MacNair's barn. When Baron Stuart had been raised to his current title, the lands he had been given once belonged to Lord Willem Ferguson. Prince Vael had divided the estate, and Ewan MacNair had received the other portion. Baron Stuart held open the door to the whitewashed barn, painted to match the shutters on MacNair's bluestone-faced home.

Little did she know, but Johane Harimann was meeting the disgruntled nobility of Starkhaven in the very same barn Renly had just five years ago.

The air was sweet with the scent of hay and clover, but tinged with the slightest hint of fresh manure. A lone cow peeked out from the very end of the row of stalls, its soft gaze trained on Johane as she walked in. Baron Stuart opened the door to the first stall, revealing a striking young man sitting on a hay bale, a crate with a single candle providing the only illumination in the dim building. The man leapt to his feet, clearly nervous.

"Baron MacNair, meet Lady Harimann," Stuart said crisply. Johane offered her hand and Ewan brushed her knuckles with a chaste kiss. He gestured for her to sit on a hay bale. Johane sniffed at the crude environment, but sat with all the grace she had ever been taught.  _First on the agenda? Teach these yokels some damned civility._

Baron Stuart sat next to Johane and began to speak. "My Lady, may I say again how very sorry we are for your loss. Per the letter I sent, you know now that it was Prince Vael who ordered the slaughter. No doubt, you wish to seek revenge."

Johane put on her best grieving-widow act. "I do. Why ever would he do such a thing," she wailed, fat crocodile tears slipping down her cheeks.

"He was heavily involved in the efforts of some of the nobles here to overthrow the Vaels," MacSwain offered. "And I can vouch for that. Keeping his role a secret was what got me thrown in jail and exiled."

MacNair gave him a skeptical glare. "I thought it was your involvement in—"

MacSwain cut him off with a wave of his hand. "No, MacNair, you are mistaken. It was because I wouldn't rat Renly out."

"Gentlemen, gentlemen," Stuart said condescendingly. "Let us not argue over petty things in front of our cherished guest. I'm so sorry, my Lady," he said, oozing charm.  _She's recently widowed, and fabulously rich. If I keep on her good side, perhaps my station will rise once those miserable Vaels are gone._

Johane waved him off like a fly at dinnertime. "It's fine. Now, why did you bring me here?"

Stuart fought to hide his wounded pride. "I merely thought since our Prince ordered your husband's murder, that you might want to be involved in our ongoing efforts to avail ourselves of his tyranny."

_There is unrest here. Perhaps ridding Starkhaven of its Vael problem will be easier than I thought. _"Indeed, I do. Let me hear your plans. I have a few ideas of my own, of course," she purred, warming up significantly to Stuart now that she knew his heart was just as wicked as hers.

Stuart relaxed, pleased by Johane's sudden change in attitude towards him. "We must employ mercenaries to murder the royal family."

Johane tilted her head, giving him a look that was  _almost_  coquettish, if Stuart dared let himself think she might have an interest in him. "And who would rule afterward? Would you let Starkhaven fall into civil war over the crown?"

Stuart grew even more confident in his role, voicing his plan for the first time. "I guess I always assumed that I would take the—"

"Like the Void you will, Stuart," MacSwain hissed.

"Oh yeah? And you would do so much better?" Stuart shot back, pounding his fist on the crate that was serving as their makeshift table. The lit candle wobbled perilously in its holder for a moment and MacNair held his breath, a quick vision of a towering inferno in his mind. The four conspirators let out sighs of relief when the candle stopped moving at last.

Johane put her hand up to keep the men quiet. "Enough, gentlemen. I have already considered this matter. We ought to put Goran Vael on the throne. He is an idiot; born premature and never managed to make up for it. A Vael on the throne will stave off infighting over the crown, and he is malleable enough to do our bidding," she said, resting a hand gingerly on Stuart's fist, which was still planted on the crate—he'd been too afraid to move a muscle for fear the candle might move again.

Stuart, MacSwain, and MacNair all looked at each other. "That's…perfect," Stuart muttered as he withdrew his fist from Johane's touch, humbled. "Once again, my Lady, you haven proven yourself to be a most admirable woman."  _Far too refined for the likes of me._

"Thank you," Johane said sharply, drawing her hand back and clasping her hands in her lap as she recalled what Allure had told her.  _I must account for anyone who might rise to the Vaels' aid._  "Now…back to the actual deed…have you accounted for the Royal Guard? The Templars? The Circle mages? Are they loyal to the Prince? Will they rush to his aid?" Her questions came fast, too fast for any of them to properly address.

The three men could only sit there, dumbfounded, until Stuart finally broke the silence. "Uh…I…"

Johane smiled smugly to herself. "That's what I thought. We need to neutralize those reinforcements first, before bringing in the mercenaries."  _These idiots wouldn't have stood a chance without me._

Stuart scratched at his chin as he thought about the forces Prince Vael might be able to call upon. "Well, the Royal Guard is rather small. We've been at peace for so long; Prince Vael has been reducing their numbers every year. Dare I say the band is perhaps three dozen troops, at best? I believe, at present, he would rely heavily on a citizen army in the event of war."

Brennen MacSwain chimed in. "Well, any mercenary company worth their salt would be able to handle such a small number, so that's not a problem. What about the Circle? The Templars?"

"I…must say I don't know how loyal they are, I'm sorry," Stuart muttered, shaking his head lightly.  _Damn…how could I have completely forgotten to account for these things? Did I truly learn nothing from my friends over the years?_

Johane sensed the growing apprehension among the men and decided to take charge, lest the coup fall apart before it truly got started. "I'm familiar with First Enchanter Quinn. Let me go assess the loyalty of the Circle and Templars," she said calmly to Stuart, reaching for his shoulder. " _You_  go meet with the Flint Company. Secure their services for a week from now. That will give us time to prepare. If we are to succeed, gentlemen, we must have a sizeable force. Surely Renly provided well for that?"  _A sennight week is more than enough time to let Allure unleash her demons in the Circle. Abominations will kill the majority of the Templars, and the rest will be so preoccupied with annulling the Circle that they won't be able to respond to a swift night strike in the Palace. Problem solved. Now if I could only dare dream reuniting with Quinn will be so easy…_

Stuart nodded vigorously. "Yes, my Lady. Your late husband indeed gave us  _much_  gold over the years. I shall hire every last mercenary to ensure this goes smoothly."

"Perfect. Have their leader come to the guest house in the morning, so that I may hear his plan and give my own suggestions," Johane replied with a warm smile. Stuart and MacSwain relaxed considerably, but MacNair was still as tight as a bowstring.

"Consider it done, my Lady," Stuart said quietly. "We'll secure the mercenaries. Do you need an escort to the house?"

"No…I'm going to the Circle straightaway. I grew up here, Baron Stuart. I know these streets well. Have no fear; I'll make it back intact," Johane said politely as she rose and exited the barn, tip-toeing around to make sure she didn't step on anything she couldn't readily identify.

The Barons watched her leave, with Stuart and MacSwain whispering about the Flint Company as soon as the barn door was closed again. MacNair excused himself from the task, claiming that he needed to get up before dawn in order to get all of his chores done. The lone cow residing two stalls down mooed in agreement. Stuart gave MacNair a strange look before leaving him behind, but said nothing.

The layout of Starkhaven had changed little over the years, and after a short twenty-minute walk, Johane climbed the steps of the Starkhaven Circle.  _It's been many, many years since I last passed through these doors. Thank the Maker that Renly had the coin to bribe my way out of here. Just think, if I had not gone—if I'd never met Renly—I would likely still be at Quinn's side, a senior enchanter…and still his secret lover. I wonder if he's just as handsome, if the years have been kind. Guess I'll find out shortly, now won't I?_ She took a deep breath and walked inside. Little had changed, appearance-wise; like many Circles, it was a tall, thin spire that rose high into the crisp Starkhaven air. Inside, the décor was sparse but meaningful, much of it Avvar in origin. Fluted columns divided expansive rooms into smaller—though no more private—spaces.  _I need to get up to the top floor. That's where the Fade pedestal is._

A deep voice, rich with the Starkhaven brogue, broke her thoughts. "Johane? Is that really you?"

Lady Harimann turned, a sly smile on her lips. "Quinn…it's like you knew I wanted to see you."  _Maker's breath…he's even more handsome than I could have imagined he'd still be. Age has definitely done him some good._

"It's been many, many years. I heard about Renly…I'm so very sorry," First Enchanter Quinn offered. "What brings you back to fair Starkhaven?"  _Have you come back for me? Just say the words, Johane…I've always been yours, only yours._

"Oh, I'm just visiting friends. I thought I'd swing by and say hello…see what you've done with the place," Johane replied, batting her eyes at Quinn.  _Maker, I'm acting like a damned teenager all over again._

Quinn laughed nervously as he ran a hand through his wavy silver hair. "Oh, I'm afraid nothing has changed much. We're such a small Circle that the Divine doesn't pay us much mind."

Johane found she was recovering enough from the thrill of seeing her former lover, and seized an opportunity to ask some questions. "So the Templar numbers are as thin as ever?"

Quinn, for his part, was still surprised that his former lover stood before him once more. He closed the gap between them, just a little bit, desperate to control the urge to reach out and stroke her cheek.  _All those nights I dreamed of her…and here she is…_ He begrudgingly jerked himself back to the present when Johane asked about the Templars. "Even worse. She's been sending more to Ferelden, to help keep order there. Five of our longest-tenured Knights got called away just last month."

"That's reckless," Johane said. "What if something happened, like at Lake Calenhad?"

"Oh…you heard about that. A bloody miracle the Grey Wardens were able to get there in time. They managed to save many good mages, including their First Enchanter, Irving. The Templars were just about to call for the Right of Annulment…" Quinn said, trailing off with a shudder.  _If that happened here…we don't have enough Templars to carry out such a thing, let alone survive the initial attack to call for it._

Johane closed the final distance between them, resting her hands on his shoulders as she looked deep into his brown-black eyes. "You know, Quinn…I was wondering if I could go up to the Library. There is a book of potions and tinctures containing the recipe for a skin cream that is supposed to work wonders on these nagging little lines around the eyes," Johane fibbed, brushing a finger over her crow's feet. "I've been trying to remember the precise reagents and ratios, but I seem to be missing something."

Quinn shivered at her initial touch, as enamored of her as he ever was. Back then, he couldn't refuse her anything…and he wasn't about to start now. "Of course, Johane. I will have to accompany you, though. You're no longer a Circle mage, after all."

"Lead the way, Quinn."

Once in the Library, Johane quickly weaved her way through the stacks, losing Quinn—who was lost in thoughts of what once was, what might have been, what could be now with Johane—with ease.  _I wonder if that gap behind the elemental magic bookcase is still there. If I recall, it spits a person out underneath the steps leading up to the fourth floor._ Much to her relief, the gap was still there and she slipped through it. It was a tighter squeeze than she remembered it being, but then again she had borne three children since she last had cause to sneak around the Starkhaven Circle.

Johane stepped out from underneath the stone staircase, hearing Quinn calling for her in the distance. Dashing up the steps, she snuck through the door, closing it quietly behind her. She turned then, facing a wide open room with a single pedestal in the center of a large, mosaic-covered stone pad. Surrounding the mosaic was a rich parquet floor, which danced with the colored light streaming in from the stained glass windows. Massive pillars—which would have been stone in any other room of the Circle—were instead made of pure blue lyrium with marble bases and capitals. The magic of this place thrummed through Johane's body and she closed her eyes pleasurably for a moment. Then she walked forward, dipping her fingers into the Fade pedestal's pool of liquefied lyrium. An intense drowsiness overtook her and the pillars of lyrium became mere colored bars as her vision blurred…

_Johane shook her head, clearing the fogginess that came from entering the Fade this way. "I hate this place," she muttered to herself. This Fade was nothing like the one of her dreams—it was a generic construct, made deliberately ridiculous by the Enchanters of the Circle to prevent personal projections and thoughts from breaking a mage's concentration during the Harrowing. She closed her eyes again and called for Allure._

" _Yes, my Lady," the Desire Demon purred as she appeared out of thin air before Johane._

_Johane smiled. "We're in Starkhaven. You can touch the pedestal, to enter the mortal realm, I believe."_

_Allure shook her head, clucking her tongue at the mage. "My Lady, I'm so sorry…but I cannot come through that way. I need a tear, like the one you made in Kirkwall. Did you bring the Tevinter magister with you?"_

" _Um…no. I thought that a Fade pedestal would suffice," Johane mumbled, wringing her hands._

_Allure circled around Johane, stroking the top of her head. "We need to recreate the ritual. Are there any other mages with his…skills here?"_

_Johane knew what she meant. The demon wanted her to mate with Commodus again. "If you mean blood mages…no. Blood magic is strictly forbidden in the Circle."_

_Allure cupped Johane's chin, bringing her gray eyes up to gaze into them. "Just because it is forbidden, doesn't mean that it isn't practiced…and I do feel the presence of blood power in this place, but it is not as strong as that of the magister. Bring him here. Recreate the ritual," she ordered._

_Johane started to panic. "But Allure…I don't have that kind of time. I only have a sennight until the mercenary strike. Can't you send through a couple of shades, at least?" She asked, desperate._

_Allure considered the options, preying upon Johane's desperation._ I could get her to do anything right now…  _"The only thing you could do in the interim is hope to enthrall every last mage in this place."_

_Johane's face scrunched in thought. "Just me, against the entire tower, complete with Templars? I don't think so," she muttered, feeling utter defeat._

_Allure wasn't without a sympathetic side—after all, if she frustrated her charge too much, she might just abandon this idea, and what good was Johane to her if she didn't desire something so strongly? She would hate to have to possess the mage again…not after they had been working so nicely together since the Veil was torn in Kirkwall. Being able to wander freely, without the cumbersome sack of flesh that mortals were restricted to, was a luxury she wasn't willing to give up easily._

" _Well, perhaps we should get back to square one…what is your desire, my Lady? Why do you wish me to send my minions into your realm so urgently?"_

_Johane spoke quickly, voice hushed as though they might be caught at any moment. "I need to eliminate the Circle and the Templars as sources of reinforcement for the Vael family before the mercenaries can carry out their plan."_

_Allure shrugged her shoulders. "That's it? You simply need to create a distraction…why not burn this building?"_

_Johane pursed her lips as she considered this new option._ Hmm. The majority of Templars do live here alongside the mages. Destroying the Circle would effectively take them out in sufficient numbers as well... _"You make a very good point, Allure. Yes, I will do it. I will burn the Starkhaven Circle."_

" _Perfect. Now go…you don't have much time," Allure cautioned. "I sense a powerful force approaching._

Not much time? Oh…Quinn must have figured out where I am…  _Johane thrust her fingers back into the pooled lyrium and felt herself being pulled hard back into reality._

Her gray eyes fluttered open, taking a moment to focus on the pair of mages standing just inside the door. "Who in the Black Void are you, and why are you in the Harrowing Chamber?" The man demanded, folding his arms across his chest defensively.

"My name is Johane. I used to belong to this Circle…I only wanted to see this chamber again, that's all. Its lyrium pillars are unlike anything I've ever seen. Now that I've shared, it's only fair you do the same."

"I am Decimus," the flax-bearded man said before pointing towards the woman at his side. "This is Grace. We are Senior Enchanters here. I felt a…disturbance, and came to investigate."

Johane looked at the man and woman before her, spying what looked like recently-healed cuts on the insides of their scarcely-exposed wrists. In an instant, she recognized her own kind.  _Blood mages. These must be the ones Allure spoke of._ She rolled up her sleeve, exposing her own heavily-scarred forearm, and walked cautiously towards the pair. "We are…of a like kind, I see, Decimus."

Decimus and Grace smiled slyly each other, then at Johane. "So it seems, indeed," he muttered. "So, why did you enter the Fade?"

Johane started to pace, her words urgent yet calculated. "As your arms attest, oppression of mages leads us to dark places. I was fortunate enough to leave this place before it consumed me entirely. I want others to be as lucky."

"You mean to do something to disrupt the Templars, then?" Grace asked, giving the elder woman a skeptical glare.

"I mean to destroy this building, so it can never imprison another mageling," Johane replied.

"I see," the woman replied quietly, casting a sidelong glance at Decimus. "What do you intend to do?"

Johane folded her arms. "I will burn this damned tower to the ground."

"And what of those of us within? Do you mean for us to perish?" Grace demanded, hands on her hips.

"Personally, I don't care. But if you'd like to help…I could use someone on the inside to light a fire on the upper floor while I find a way to trap the Templars inside, at the very least. What you do after setting the fire is up to you."

Decimus leaned into Grace, whispering frantically in her ear. He cradled her face in his hands, looking deep into her eyes. She nodded, and Decimus turned back to speak with Johane again. "As luck would have it, we've been plotting our escape from this wretched place, and your timing is perfect. You have our aid. We can set the fire up here while you trap the Templars. The main double door is enchanted. It can be locked magically from the outside…in the event of a need to perform the Right of Annulment. Personally, I'd just lock that and let everyone burn."

Johane couldn't believe her luck.  _First the nobility was already plotting a coup, and now I have a pair of blood mages that were planning to escape anyway? Surely the Maker must be on my side._ "What of you and Grace? You're willing to trap yourselves as well?"

Decimus waved off her concern. "We have a way out, don't worry yourself with that. What I would worry about is that the enchantment can only be activated by the First Enchanter and the Knight-Commander. Good luck with that," he said dryly.

"Anybody can be made a thrall with enough blood," Johane spat.

"Ah, tis true…but you'll have none of mine, and none of Grace's. We'll help start the fire up here, but we will not put our necks on the line by trying to make the First Enchanter and Knight-Commander your blood slaves."

Johane knew better than to press her luck. She nodded politely. "Very well…I thank you for your assistance, Decimus. Should you find yourself in need of a safe haven, my home—the Harimann estate in Kirkwall—is large and secure."

"Thank y—shh! Somebody's coming!" Decimus hissed as he and Grace scrambled to hide behind two of the lyrium pillars. Johane, dumbstruck, could only stand while First Enchanter Quinn entered the Harrowing Chamber, alone.  _Well, well, well…I don't have to track Quinn down after all._

"Johane! What are you doing in here?" Quinn demanded, noticing the cuts on the inside of Johane's exposed forearm.  _Blood magic? Her? Sweet Andraste, no…_

Johane sauntered towards him, trying to keep him focused on their former love while she plotted a way to gain an advantage over him. "I always found this room to be beautiful. I have never seen pillars of lyrium like this anywhere else and simply wished to see them again. I'm sorry I got distracted, Quinn. Please forgive me."

It was too late; Johane hadn't realized it yet, but Quinn had seen the scars on her arms. Any feminine charms she might have been able to employ were now lost on him. "You entered the Fade. I can see the lyrium coating your fingers," Quinn said, instinctively reaching for his staff. "Why are you really here, Johane? Speak quickly, or I'll be forced to drain you."

Behind the pillars, Decimus caught Grace's eye.  _Stay there still and be quiet,_ he mouthed. Grace nodded her understanding and shoved the excess fabric of her sleeve in her mouth in preparation—if Quinn overshot Johane with the draining spell, she would suffer a direct hit. Being drained, as Grace had learned when originally captured by Templars as a youth, hurt like a sonuvabitch.

Johane brought her hands to her chest in mock surprise. "Drain me? You've been around the Templars for far too long, Quinn," she chided. "Didn't anybody ever tell you it's poor manners to run around casting Templar spells on your fellow mages?"

Quinn held his staff now, pointing it at Johane. "It's not a Templar spell. Had you stuck around the Circle longer, you would know that Senior Enchanters must be prepared to nullify mages for a multitude of reasons."

"And as First Enchanter, Quinn, you should be able to tell when a blood mage enters your midst," Johane snarled as she pulled a knife from her belt, slashing her wrist. As the blood sprayed from the cut, she flung it at the First Enchanter, stunning him as the power of her blood started to leach away his life. Before he could react, Johane then cast a spell to make him her blood-thrall slave. She commanded him to bring her to the Knight-Commander, where a fresh cut and new spattering of blood had the same effect.

Johane put each of her hands on one shoulder of both Quinn and Knight-Commander Warrick, speaking in a calculated tone. "Listen to me, gentlemen. There is a grave threat against the Circle. You must lock the doors…lock every mage within until reinforcements arrive. Surely there is a way to do this so that the locks cannot be picked?"

"We can lock the doors on the first floor with magic…magic powered by a Templar key and an enchantment, in case we need to perform the Right of Annulment," Quinn said flatly, much like a Tranquil mage, his dark eyes staring off to parts unknown.

"That would be perfect. Let's do that," Johane purred as she slashed her arm yet again.  _One distinct drawback to blood magic is that you have to keep the cuts flowing…every time one clots over, a new one must be made. This scarring is hideous._

It didn't take long for the First Enchanter, Knight-Commander, and Johane to reach the double doors leading out to the foyer of the Circle. Johane pulled the doors shut and barked at the men to perform their ritual. They complied, wooden in their movements until a shower of sparks burst forth from the lock.

"It is done," Quinn said as the Knight-Commander tucked the key in his belt pouch.

"Perfect," Johane said as she made a final, deep slice on her stomach, gathering blood in her hands and throwing it towards the men, making a hand motion like she were pulling a lasso tight around an animal. The men snapped back, as though a rope around their gut had been pulled sharply. With a final, more forceful jerk, the invisible force around the men's' stomachs tightened fatally, rending them in twain as the blood magic sucked the last of their life force out of them. Behind her, a young Knight muttered to himself as he fumbled for his longsword.  _Probably the first time he's ever seen blood magic. Poor sap. It'll be his last._ With another flick of her hand, Johane sent the man flying back towards the stone wall. When he hit, the lantern mounted above him rattled loose and fell, igniting him in flames as the fuel within coated his body. Johane smiled to herself as she watched him burn, ensuring that he actually perished before walking out of the Circle.

Meanwhile, in the Harrowing Chamber, Decimus and Grace couldn't believe their luck. Not only were they getting their chance to escape, but they would burn this place—and their phylacteries—in the process.

"So, if we train our flames on the lyrium, it'll melt and burn through the floorboards slowly?" Grace asked, a bit puzzled, as she approached one of the bright blue pillars. She'd never seen lyrium melt before, but knew that dwarves had used it to blast holes in the Deep Roads for thousands of years. For a brief moment, she pictured the lyrium pillars exploding, blowing the roof off the tower—and her into smithereens.

Decimus approached Grace from behind, snaking an arm around her waist and giving her hip a reassuring squeeze. "Yes, Grace. Lyrium melts rather easily, but holds its heat much like lava. It'll give us enough time to work our way down to our room and grab the chest."

Grace worried the cuticle on her thumbnail as she came to grips with the reality of the situation—they were really, truly going to do this. Right now. Tonight. As much as she wanted this—to escape and live a normal life with Decimus—it all felt so sudden. "Do we dare take anyone with us? I'd hate to see Alain perish—he's such a talented young man," she whispered, fearing for the safety of her favorite apprentice.  _He doesn't deserve such a horrific fate._

Decimus felt Grace stiffen under his arm and looked down at her, catching the fear in her eyes.  _Fine. I'm not going to start an argument. Not now, not when we're so close. We'll take her apprentice, but no others._ "If we can get to him quickly and quietly enough. If he's surrounded by others, we cannot risk it. Remember, we must get away from this place before anyone realizes our corpses aren't in the ashes."

"But won't our phylacteries—"

"They'll be burned, yes. But we are Senior Enchanters—and I've been dogged by those damned blood mage rumors for years—surely the Grand Enchanter in Cumberland has more information on mages like us than, say, Alain. We've been around long enough that people know what we look like, what our talents are," Decimus whispered, planting a gentle kiss on Grace's tattooed temple.

Grace looked up at Decimus through her thick, dark lashes. "Our…talents?"

"Not the blood magic, love, don't worry," Decimus said reassuringly, shaking his blond locks gently. "Anyway, we need to get a move on if we are to get this fire going for Johane. You'll like Kirkwall, I think."

"Well, her offer certainly answered the question of where we would go after our escape. On that alone, I shall try to make the best of it," Grace said with a shrug.

"Atta girl, Grace. Now just use Flame Blast—no fireballs, no firestorms—and concentrate to keep the intensity of the flame relatively low. You'll notice the lyrium will change from blue to white as it absorbs the heat. Once the lyrium starts to melt, we'll go get our stuff and look for Alain," Decimus said calmly as he reached for his staff. "We can get away with melting just two of these columns, I think. That'll be a lot of molten lyrium eating through the floors but if it's just on the one side, we shouldn't be overtaken by the fire before we can get out.

Grace mirrored his motion as she walked over to the adjacent column. "I love you, Decimus."

"And I you. Let's light some fireworks," Decimus replied as he concentrated on the tip of his staff, the crystal lodged there glowing orange before emitting a gentle fountain of flames. Grace watched for a moment before following suit. Before long, the centers of the two pillars turned white, and moments later the lyrium became molten, its latent heat carrying through the length of the massive columns of ore. The now-liquid pillars quickly started to pool around the marble bases and there was a loud groan above them as part of the roof lost its support. The wood floor in front of them quickly started to smoke. Decimus stopped his flame, and a quickly hissed _Grace!_  was the signal to get out of there before they were no longer able to.

_I hope Decimus has kept up his end of the bargain,_ Johane thought as she tugged her sleeves down to cover the cuts on her forearms, thankful she had chosen to wear a mourning dress of black silk, which hid the bloodstains. She nestled into a nearby alley and watched the Circle Tower intensely for several moments. Just as she was about to give up hope, she saw a bright yellow light emanate from the Harrowing Chamber—Decimus and Grace had successfully set the fourth-floor Harrowing chamber on fire. Soon—though unseen by her eye—molten lyrium started to flow through cracks and gaps, consuming the wooden floor planks. Slowly but surely, each floor of the circle went up in flames, and she could just make out past the black smoke and heat waves three mages inching their way down the outside of the tower on a rope. Still others were jumping out of the windows, desperate to either escape death by fire or perhaps escape entirely. A few were lucky enough to survive—most, Johane figured, perished when they hit the ground. It must have been at least twenty minutes before the first outsiders started to gather around the burning tower, and by that point there was nothing that anyone could do. She could hear the cries and screams inside as flames and smoke pushed those who couldn't jump out a window lower and lower, until they were finally forced to crowd in the corridor behind the hopelessly locked door, the only ones capable of unlocking it lying in a pool of blood on the other side.

The trio of mages that had rappelled down the tower hit the ground. Johane could see now that it was indeed Decimus, Grace, and another young man. Together, they managed to make their escape, with several younger mages hot on their heels, desperate to be led anywhere as long as it was away from the blazing spire.

Mortar, ruined by the heat, started to fail and the walls started to crumble, each level of the Circle collapsing into the one below until finally the whole pile caved in on the desperate souls within, silencing them forever. The townsfolk flocking towards the disaster shrieked and wailed, not wanting to believe that no one had managed to escape, wondering how such a tragic thing could have happened. Those who were distrustful of mages praised the action, giving credit to the Maker for wiping out those cursed creatures. They were quickly confronted by family members of the mages and Templars now presumed dead, and a skirmish broke out. Efforts to quench the flames quickly refocused on the escalating conflict surrounding the Circle, which finally ended when several of the Royal Guard arrived to break things up. As suddenly as it had broken out, the street fight was over, and most everybody went back to their homes—there was no point in waiting up to see if any survivors would climb out of the miserable ruins of the Starkhaven Circle.

**_The next morning:_ **

Ewan MacNair's fingers trembled as he struggled to fasten the buttons of his jerkin, going over how he would break this terrible news to his Prince. " _Your Highness, Johane Harimann is in Starkhaven"—no. "Your Highness, Baron Stuart and Johane Harimann are conspiring against you"—eh, not urgent enough. "Your Highness, mercenaries have been hired to strike the palace in a sennightweek." Yes…I think that'll do. We can discuss the particulars of the plot later, once it's been crushed._

He descended the stairs and entered the dining room, where his wife—heavy with their first child—was enjoying a bowl of oatmeal and her morning tea. "Good morning, love," she chirped, putting down her spoon and dabbing her mouth with a napkin in preparation for a kiss.

_Maker's breath, she's even more beautiful than the day we met. I can't wait to meet our child._ "Good morning, Elizabeth," Ewan whispered as he bent down and gave her a gentle kiss on the lips. "I see you escaped your confinement again. How is our little one behaving himself this morning?"

"I can't bear being in that room, Ewan. It's lonely and dark and stuffy. But don't make a fuss; I'll be going back there as soon as I'm done eating. Your boy is as feisty as ever, by the way. Midwife says it could be any time now, and I'll be glad when he gets here—he's been making it really hard to sleep as of late," the brown-eyed brunette replied, rubbing her belly. "So, where are you off to this morning, wearing such good clothes?"

Ewan's chiseled features scrunched slightly, just for a moment, before he gave his Elizabeth a saccharine smile.  _I hate not being able to be truthful with her, but it's for her own good._ "I have to go to the palace for a bit, but I'll be back soon, I promise. I don't want to be away much if you're this close."

Elizabeth clasped her hands in delight as she squealed. "Ooh, the palace! Do tell me if you see Her Highness. I'd love to know what she's wearing—she always looks so pretty, and her coloring is similar to mine. And listen out for some good gossip, will you? I'm so dreadfully out of the loop these days." Her warm brown eyes glittered as she thought of the prospect of finally hearing something of the world beyond these stone walls.  _It's been a LONG confinement…_

Ewan smiled down at his pretty little bride—this one genuine—marveling at how she was so radiant despite looking like her belly was moments from bursting. "Of course, love. Anything else? Any cravings?"

Elizabeth pursed her cherry-red lips. "If you could swing by the market and pick up some quail eggs…"

"More quail eggs? I swear, those poor birds will go extinct by the time you go into labor," Ewan teased, pressing a kiss to Elizabeth's chocolate locks before grabbing a pastry and sitting at the opposite end of the table. He wolfed it down as he pulled on his boots. Gulping down his cup of tea, he winced at the heat of it but quickly shrugged it off.  _Gotta get going or I'll be late. Not wise to keep the Prince waiting._ "Farewell, love," he muttered as he rose abruptly and rushed out of the dining room.

MacNair opened the front door to his bluestone-faced home and looked both ways before stepping out. He moved quickly, not wanting to be seen or stopped before he delivered his latest report to Prince Vael. Avoiding the still-smoldering pile of rubble that was once the Circle, Ewan cut down an alley he knew well from his bachelor days. As he passed a small recess, a large gloved hand reached out and snagged his sleeve, jerking him into the darkness. He was blinded by the sudden change in light, unable to identify his captor at first.

Then the man opened his mouth, and Ewan knew in an instant that he was a dead man.

"I thought you had chores this morning, Ewan," Baron Stuart growled.

Ewan swallowed hard as his eyes finally adjusted to the dim light and when he looked up, he could see the rage on Stuart's face. "I did. They're done. And now I'm off to the market to fetch some quail eggs to sate my wife's craving."

Stuart looked at the fabric in his grasp, releasing Ewan's arm with disgust. "You're dressed awfully nice for a simple market run, not to mention you've already passed the market," Stuart said, leaning in to whisper in his ear, his voice growing dark and fatal. "I know it's been you…you got Treadgold killed, then Renly…I'll be damned if you're going to get me killed, too."

"I—I don't know what you're talking about," Ewan stammered, feeling sweat beading on his brow as his pulse quickened. He was no match for Baron Stuart and he knew it; not only was Stuart a half-head taller, but because Ewan was on his way to the palace, he hadn't even grabbed his he was on his way to the palace, he hadn't even grabbed his sword. Ewan could only play dumb and hope for the best at this point.  _Please, Maker, let Elizabeth be alright. I'm not worth saving, but keep her safe…she's an innocent in all this._

Stuart snapped back and gave Ewan a firm shove. He hit the stone wall behind him, a bit of his breath knocked out. "Yes you do, you little rat-faced snitch. And I'm going to see to it that you confess what you've done to poor Lady Harimann. She'll decide your fate, not me. C'mon, let's go," Stuart growled as he yanked on MacNair's arm, leading him back into the alley and marching him towards the Stuart Estate. Ewan could only lower his head in shame as he shuffled along, not wanting to draw undue attention to himself, lest he anger Stuart further. He feltfeeling like a calf being led to slaughter.

Arriving at the guest house, Baron Stuart opened the front door and shoved Ewan inside. He stumbled over the threshold, falling and sprawling awkwardly on the wide-planked floor. Before he could right himself, Ewan could feel multiple sword tips trained on him. He rose slowly, hands up in surrender once he got to his knees. Looking up and around, Ewan saw Stuart, MacSwain, several strangers that must have been from the Flint Company, and Lady Johane herself.

"My Lady, I give you the rat snitch," Baron Stuart said with a sneer as he kicked Ewan's ribs. Ewan coughed and gasped to catch his breath.

"This young man is responsible for the death of my Renly?" Johane asked, turning her glare to Ewan. "Whatever shall we do with him?"

"Sew his lips shut, so he can't snitch again," MacSwain muttered.

"Slit his throat. That's what we do," the Flint Company leader offered.

"Sew his lips shut, then slit his throat," Stuart grumbled as he stared at Ewan with a cold expression.

"Now that, I like," Johane said, giving Stuart a wry smile. "I knew Renly was onto something with you. I'll go get my sewing kit…prepare him, Slade," she barked at the Flint Company leader. He nodded at Johane as she retreated to her room. While she went to fetch a needle and thread, two of the mercenaries surrounding Ewan seized him by the upper arms and pulled him to his feet. They dragged him over to a chair by the fireplace, holding him there while Slade lashed him tight to it with a rope.

As he was being bound to the chair, Ewan's first thought was to beg forgiveness, to swear to do anything for Johane—for the coup—if only he could return home to his Elizabeth. But he knew, deep down, his fate was sealed at the moment Baron Stuart gave him that funny little look in the barn the night before.  _No amount of begging, no turning of my coat would save me now. All I can do is stay quiet and hope that the Prince might learn of my death and do something to save Elizabeth._

Johane arrived with the needle and thread, standing over the restrained Baron with a sadistic grin. "Anything to confess, Baron? The words will be your last—literally." She started to thread the needle, doubling the thread for strength.

Ewan swallowed down the urge to say anything, instead internalizing his goodbye to his young bride.  _Goodbye, my love…my wife. May we meet again at the Maker's side._ He shook his head adamantly, pressing his lips into a thin line.

"No? Pity. You had such a lovely timbre to your voice," Johane said as she gripped Ewan's jaw with one hand. "Just keep pressing your lips like that…perfect."

Ewan glared into her soulless eyes, resigned to his fate and fearless because of it, as the first prick of the needle pierced his upper lip. Stifling the scream that threatened to erupt, Ewan kept staring at Johane as she worked, the woman humming a merry little tune that made his skin crawl. She made sure to draw up the needle in front of his eyes with every stitch so he could see the white thread now coated with his blood. Moments later, she tied a double knot and leaned over Ewan's mouth, biting off the excess string.

With no warning, Baron Stuart grabbed the fireplace poker and thrust it into the embers, the metal quickly taking on a faint reddish glow. "Let's test those stitches, my Lady," he growled as he held the hot poker in front of Ewan's face, watching gleefully as sweat beaded on his brow and started to roll down his nose.  _This sonuvabitch got Maker-knows-how-many good men killed. I wanna make this hurt as much as possible._

"No need, Baron Stuart. Let's just get this done with," Johane commanded as she grabbed Stuart's wrist with surprising force. She gestured towards Slade, who again nodded his compliance and stepped forward, dagger in hand. All others stepped away as he walked behind Ewan, grabbing his hair and yanking his head back. The fatal cut happened so quickly that Baron Stuart wasn't even sure it had happened at all until he saw all the blood. With a muffled gurgle and a couple of convulsions, Ewan MacNair was gone.

"Get him out of here," Stuart ordered as he covered his mouth with his sleeved forearm. "Dump him in the river."  _To think I called that rat bastard my friend._

The mercenaries sprang into action, unbinding the dead young man and starting the cleanup process. In mere minutes, Stuart, MacSwain, and Johane were surprised to find that the main room of the guest house looked remarkably clean.

Slade approached the trio, wiping his dagger before returning it to the scabbard. "We will dispose of this much. The rest is up to you. For this, it will be an additional five sovereigns on top of the price we agreed upon last night."

Johane smiled as she reached into the coin pouch on her belt, producing coins and counting them out. "Again, I find the way you handle your business refreshing, Slade. Here are six for your trouble," she said warmly, dropping the coins into the rogue's hand. "Let us talk particulars about the palace strike now, shall we?"

"But of course, my Lady," Slade replied smoothly as she gestured for him to step into the small study just off the main room. Before he disappeared completely, he motioned for his men to get the body of MacNair out of the house. His grunts complied, taking the corpse out of the back door and traversing the rear of the Stuart estate until they reached the banks of the Minanter, tossing the dead man in without a care.

**_An hour and a half later, at the Palace:_ **

"Where is he?" Aidan asked as he started to pace in front of the fireplace in his office. "MacNair is never late, and here it is two hours past already. You don't suppose he—"

"I highly doubt it, Sire. I don't think he'd dare turn on us again," Gavin said as he uncrossed and crossed his legs, adjusting his kilt in the process.

Aidan chewed on his thumb, spitting out a hard bit of nail. "Then perhaps they've gotten to him…and if that's the case, we're ruined," he said in a frenzied tone, throwing his hand into the air.

"Isn't his wife very close to giving birth? Perhaps she simply went into labor," the middle Vael son replied, thinking of his own precious Bria, growing more and more swollen with his seed by the day. A wave of excitement—tinged with more than a little fear—washed over him as he tried to picture what the child would look like.  _As careful as we've always been…it could very well be Bryan's._

Aidan seemed to sense Gavin's tension. As he recalled spending many hours pacing outside of Andra's confinement chamber, he could easily see Ewan doing the same. He visibly relaxed and crossed over to his desk, sitting down with a sigh. "Yes…she is. Let us pray that's all that's keeping him."

"Agreed. Now back to the subject…we have confirmation that both First Enchanter Quinn and Knight-Commander Warrick were killed in last night's blaze. Also known dead are sixteen Templars and two dozen mages of varying rank," Gavin said, swallowing down his nerves.

Aidan ran his hand over his stubbled chin; there'd been no time to shave when Matthias rushed in with news of the Circle Tower fire. "And we have a messenger en routeon the way to Val Royeaux?"

Gavin nodded. "Of course," he said sharply, pausing to consider his words. "What is most disturbing, however, is there are several mages missing…and of course since the entire tower collapsed, all of the phylacteries were lost. We've sent out as many of the unhurt Templars as we could to look for them…but we may have to concede that as many as a dozen of our Circle mages are now apostates."

Aidan leaned back in his chair, scrubbing his hands slowly over his face and letting out a frustrated huff. "What do we know about the mages that are missing?"

Gavin cleared his throat and straightened up.  _This is gonna go over like a fart in the Chantry._ "At least two were very long-tenured senior enchanters. One of them, you know…Decimus. Also missing is his rumored lover, Grace, and several mages that had either just passed their Harrowing or were about to be made Tranquil for suspected blood magic experimentation."

"So what you're saying is that we've got blood mages on the loose," Aidan mumbled, wincing.

Gavin arched his eyebrows and grimaced. "I didn't say that in as many words…but where there's one, there's usually another…and Decimus has been dogged by rumors of practicing blood magic for years."

_Not important…unless he's a potential threat._ "Any idea on his feelings towards the Crown?" Aidan asked, steeling himself.

Gavin glanced sideways at his father. "You mean, has he spoken against you in the past? Not that I'm aware of. None of the surviving mages could say much about him, other than to gossip about him, Grace and some kid named Alain."

Aidan sat forward, hunching over and folding his hands in a quick prayer. "Thank the Maker. Have you made any arrangements for the survivors?"

"I have sent word to Kirkwall. Maker—and Knight-Commander Meredith—willing, we'll be allowed to send the mages there until a new Circle can be built," Gavin replied smoothly, rather proud of how well he'd handled this situation so far.

Aidan, however, had moved on to other concerns.  _I must consider that this could be a mere distraction. Without the Circle mages and Templars to augment the Royal Guard…_ "That could be  _years_ years, Seneschal. Years without any mages, any substantial Templar force…we'll have to start recruiting for the Royal Guard again, as soon as possible," he said, mentally calculating how much he could move from other areas of the budget to pay for new troops. "I'm ashamed to admit I've let the numbers slide a bit too much.…g Got a little too dependent on Templars to supplement our trained force. By the way, do we have any idea what caused the blaze?"

Gavin shrugged. "It appears to have started from within. We'll know more later today, once the workers get enough of the rubble cleared."

"That's what I feared. I have a sinking feeling—"

Just then, the door burst open and Captain Ryon ran in. Aidan and Gavin shot to their feet and grabbed for their blades at the intrusion, relaxing when they realized it was merely the Captain. Ryon hunkered over, hands on his knees, as he gasped for breath. After a few moments, he straightened up, still struggling to catch his breath as he spoke. "Please pardon the interruption, Your Highness, but I have terrible news. One of my men just fished Ewan MacNair out of the river."

Aidan stiffened and found he couldn't speak. Gavin approached the Captain and put a hand on his shoulder. "Dead, I assume, then," he mumbled, eyes downcast, as he hoped that Ryon would say Ewan had simply fallen in or had some sort of accident.  _Maker please…_

"Aye. His throat was slit…and his mouth was sewn shut," Ryon said as he looked up at Aidan, eyes filled with remorse.

Aidan's knees buckled at the revelation. He gripped the edge of his desk with one hand to steady himself as a tightness started to grab at his chest for a few agonizing seconds. It released quickly enough, however, and the Prince immediately rushed to his liquor cabinet. He didn't even bother with a glass, choosing to take a long pull straight from a bottle of aged scotch.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Aidan let out a slow breath. "Leave me…both of you," he growled. Gavin and Ryon looked at each other and shrugged, but did not dare argue.

"As you wish," Gavin said quietly. "I will return later when I have more news about the Circle. Are you alright? You look a bit…pasty. I can send Gil up here—"

"No, I'm fine. Thank you, Seneschal," Aidan spat. Gavin spun sharply on the balls of his feet and strode out of the study. Ryon hesitated.

Aidan took another swig.  _Shit. If they got to Ewan…I can't leave poor Elizabeth out to dry._ "Ryon…would you please send two of your men to check on Elizabeth MacNair? I'd like to make sure she's alright, considering."  _Where can I send her, to keep her safe? Certainly can't bring her here, and with a wee one about to come, I can't send her out of the city…_

"Not a problem, Sire. I'll have her brought to my house. Call for me if you need," the captain said as he left to catch Gavin.

_Good…yes…Ryon's house is a good place for her to stay._ Bottle still in hand, Aidan returned to his desk and slumped into the worn leather chair. He took another long pull, draining the vessel, and set it down with a clumsy  _thunk_. Long, thick, calloused fingers wound their way into thin salt-and-peppered auburn locks and he ground the heels of his palms against his azure eyes, trying to scrub horrific images from his mind's eye. Several moments and long breaths later, Aidan straightened up again. He pulled a piece of parchment and began to write. The words poured from his quill like never before, filling two pages with his harried scrawl. He sanded them to soak up the excess ink and added an extra page for opacity before he folded the letter in thirds, then the narrowed note in thirds crosswise, pouring a generous pool of molten wax at the junction. He pressed his signet ring into it, the wax cooling quickly and taking a hair from the back of his finger as a souvenir due to his haste. Once the wax cooled, Aidan kissed the wax seal and pressed the letter against his chest as he squeezed his eyes shut. He tucked it inside his jerkin, next to his heart, and wiped away a stray tear that had slipped down his stubbly cheek.

_This will have to do._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the first things that my new Beta, Kira Tamarion, and I discussed was the length of this story and its overall structure. I've been working on the outline for the remainder of the story and find that I'm pushing 50 chapters without much effort, and if I take the time to make the romance as rich for my readers as it is in my head, then it'll definitely go over that. So after much consideration, I will be splitting this story into two parts.
> 
> Personally, as a reader, I get a bit weary of stories that have more than 30 chapters, and I definitely don't start reading new stories that are already over 30 when I find them unless the author has made it clear that they are relatively close to being done. As a writer, flipping back through twenty-some chapters to find a reference I made to something gets a bit cumbersome. From a purely practical standpoint, my backup file for this story is well over 300 pages, which is taxing my netbook quite a bit when I work with it.
> 
> So the next chapter will be the final chapter for this part. The title for the continuation will be Black Sheep, White Armor: Book Two. Imaginative, I know, but I want to make it clear that Sebastian's story is definitely NOT over just because this story is being marked 'complete'. Book Two will have a small summary prologue for new readers before going into the direct continuation. I will not be changing the pairing of this story, even though I didn't get into the Hawke romance, because I want to reinforce that the two stories are one cohesive tale with an ultimate pairing of Sebastian/Hawke, and I've already started to lay the groundwork for it here. I want people to read both parts with that goal in mind.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading, and thanks for all the love you've sent my way. I hope you've enjoyed the journey so far, and look forward to hearing your reactions once Book Two gets underway.


	28. Insomnia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The writing is on the wall for Aidan Vael, and he moves to act, but is it too late?

**_Starkhaven, the afternoon following the Circle’s destruction:_ **

Aidan walked through the long underground corridor between the Palace and the Guard’s Keep, keeping his lantern close as he constantly looked over his shoulder, not wanting to be caught off-guard. He finally entered the Keep proper, passing into the lower level, past the infirmary and armory, turning at the bottom of the staircase towards the solitary confinement block. He walked past the cells’ solid metal doors, venturing all the way to the end of the hall until he reached Ryon’s favorite room in the entire Keep. He’d asked to meet here, in this soundproof cell, because he wanted to be completely sure this conversation remained private. Peering in the open door, he saw Ryon, Corbinian, Gavin, and Fordham already waiting inside. Aidan glanced over his shoulder one last time and entered.

“May I shut the door? We won’t be locked in, will we?” Aidan asked, peering up through bronze lashes at the men within.

“Of course not, Sire. The lock works from either side, and we both have a key,” Ryon replied, gesturing at Fordham, who nodded. “Go ahead and close it.”

“Good,” Aidan muttered as he pulled the door shut behind him, the latch clicking home. He started to pace, hands behind his back. Taking a deep breath, he swallowed thickly, trying to force down the lump in his throat in order to speak. “I suppose you’re wondering why I asked you all to meet me here. I’ll get right to it. Starkhaven’s Circle is gone, and with it, the support we once counted on from mages and Templars. Then, just this morning, our mole was pulled from the Minanter with his lips sewn shut and throat slit. Now, I’m not one to jump to conclusions, but it’s hard to believe these two events are unrelated. I fear the conspiracy we thought died with Renly Harimann seems to be very much alive, gentlemen…and I think our goose is about to be cooked.” The words, even now, still seemed so surreal. _We always knew this day would come, but Maker help me if I’m not absolutely terrified anyway._

Gavin Vael scowled, deep in thought. “Do you think it’s still Baron Stuart behind all of this, now that Renly is out of the picture?”

Aidan paused and rubbed at the stubble on his cheeks. “It has to be, don’t you think? But who is holding the purse strings? Baron Stuart isn’t exactly the wealthiest of our nobility. I can’t imagine he has enough gold on his own to throw at whomever he’s got working for him. Ewan was to report the latest this morning—all he knew was that an outsider was coming to meet with him and Stuart. That he was killed _now_ speaks volumes. Clearly, their outsider is someone rich and powerful.”

Corbinian piped up. “You don’t think Renly’s widow could be continuing his work, do you?”

Aidan chewed on his thumbnail and nodded. “I think we have to consider that possibility. Motive, money, a fair measure of insanity—she’s got it all.”

Ryon thought for a moment. “Something from earlier today struck me as possibly being significant. The workers uncovered something unusual when they dug down to the main floor of the Circle. The First Enchanter and Knight-Commander were dead, covered in blood, but not a single wound on either of them would account for such carnage. And they were on the _outside_ of the double doors leading into the tower proper.”

“Why’s that significant?” Gavin asked.

Ryon gave the Seneschal a sidelong glance. “Those doors were locked and completely intact—not even singed. And most of the dead mages and Templars were on the other side. Looks like the majority of them died trying to break through the doors.”

Aidan gasped. “Are you suggesting someone locked those doors and let everyone in the tower die?”

“I believe so, yes,” Ryon said, nodding.

Fordham, who had been sitting back, observing everything, could no longer remain silent. “If I may, Your Highness,” he broke in, “the double doors leading into every Circle are built to lock from the outside in the event that a Right of Annulment is invoked. It can only be locked by an enchantment put in place by the First Enchanter and Knight-Commander. For whatever reason, Quinn and Warrick must have thought there was a threat of such import that they found it necessary to lock the doors.”

Gavin folded his arms across his chest. “Why didn’t _they_ try to escape, then?”

Fordham waved a gloved hand. “I don’t know. Perhaps they were coerced into locking them, but that’s highly unlikely. It would be a rare person who had the ability to sway the will of a First Enchanter, let alone a Knight-Commander. A blood mage, possibly--”

“That could explain the condition of the bodies…and all the blood. Maybe they were dead before the fire started,” Ryon interrupted. Fordham grimaced; seeming to indicate this was the likely answer.

Aidan’s face fell at this revelation. “Maker’s breath…so it’s entirely possible we’re dealing with not only a few cranky nobles, but possibly an out-of-control mage?”

Gavin shook his head gently, stunned at Fordham’s revelation. “Don’t forget about the dozen or so mages that got away…they could have joined the band of conspirators, for all we know.”

Ryon shifted on his feet nervously. “I only have thirty men at my disposal, Sire. I can’t possibly hold against a sizeable force, especially if there are mages. Not without Templars to neutralize them.”

Aidan threw up his hands. “Well, I don’t intend to just put down my sword and give up, that’s for damn sure,” he yelled, the sound of it swallowed up by the soft walls of the cell. “How quickly can we assemble the citizen militia?”

Ryon let out a huff. “I’m not sure how wise it would be to call upon the citizens right now. I think that’s a very easy way to let Baron Stuart and whomever he’s working with plant spies within our ranks. I think we need to tighten up, move everybody to the Palace…even your brother. Once we can get a better handle on whether or not there is any true threat, then we can let you go back to your homes…and if there is indeed a strike, it’s far easier to lockdown and defend just this palace rather than four separate locations.”

“That’s brilliant, Ryon,” Aidan muttered. “Very well. Boys…be in the Palace with your wives and children by midnight. I’ll go have your rooms prepared.”

“Just my wife? What about Bryan?” Gavin demanded. “He’s just as important to me as Bria.”

_Here we go._ Aidan looked at his middle son with a pained expression. “Gavin…we don’t have the room to—“

“Well then I’m not coming,” Gavin hissed, folding his arms across his chest as he set his jaw in defiance. “We’ll fend off any attackers ourselves. Bryan’s good with a sword, and I’m…well, I’m sure in the heat of the moment, I’ll be able to defend my family.”

“Brother, be reasonable,” Corbinian said gently, placing a hand on Gavin’s shoulder.

Gavin jerked out from under Corbinian’s hand and stomped a few feet away. “No. I will not ‘be reasonable’. Bryan has been my faithful lover for many years. He is, for all intents and purposes, my _husband_. I will not have him cast aside like he means nothing! Father, if you truly accept me, as you have claimed before, you will let Bryan come to the palace.”

Aidan shook his head gently. _I don’t have the patience to accommodate your…lifestyle right now, boy._ “Gavin, I’m sorry, but we just don’t have the extra space. As it is, I’ll be sending nearly half the staff away to make room for all of you.”

Gavin scowled at this news. “Well, Bryan _was_ my servant, was he not? Just make him a temporary part of the staff and be done with it,” he spat.

Aidan sighed. “I’m not sure Bryan would like that, Gavin—“

Gavin wasn’t about to hear any more of his father’s reasoning. He turned away from his father, brother, and Fordham, approaching Captain Ryon. “Let me out,” he demanded.

“I beg your pardon?” Ryon asked incredulously.

Gavin leveled a harsh glare at the Captain. “Let me out of this cell. I’m leaving. And I won’t be in the Palace tonight,” he said, seething.

“I’d like to leave as well. I have three children to contend with,” Corbinian said, giving his brother a pleading look before meeting Ryon’s eyes. “ _We’ll_ be in the Palace by midnight, at least.”

“Very well,” Ryon muttered as he fumbled for the key, shoving it in the lock and opening the door. Gavin walked out in a huff, without speaking a single word, with Corbinian hot on his heels. Ryon pulled the door shut again.  

Ryon turned back to the others and shrugged his shoulders. “What about Alec and his family? Would you like to go tell them, or shall I?”

Aidan, who was staring at the door, let out a strangled chuckle. “They are on holiday, taking in the sights of lovely Antiva City, if you can believe the timing of it,” he said bitterly. “They should be back in two days’ time, and I will have rooms prepared for them as well.”

“I’ll tell my patrolmen to keep their eyes open for His Highness’ litter,” Ryon said crisply. “Once they’re safely in the palace, we’ll lock down the tunnels and any exterior doors. Nobody goes in or out without going through me. By the way, Elizabeth MacNair was unharmed. She’s resting at my house…though understandably quite upset.”

Aidan gave Ryon a thin smile. “I’m glad to hear the Baroness was unharmed…thank you once again for taking her in. I shall set aside an endowment for her and the wee one, in recognizance of the services her husband performed for the Crown. If we had room in the palace, your family would be welcomed, but…anyway, there is one more thing that I need to discuss, though it pains me to do so,” he said, reaching into the left side of his jerkin and pulling out a sealed message. “I need you to deliver this to Kirkwall, should--”

Ryon broke in, putting up a halting hand. “I will not leave you to die, Aidan. I swore an oath to protect you with my life and that is what I’ll do if it comes down to it. Besides…we’ve been friends for almost as long as I can remember…I cannot bear the thought of leaving you alone to face such…evil.” He glared at the Prince, angry that he would even think of asking him to abandon his duty in a time like this.

Aidan looked down at the pitch-blackened stone floor of the cell and furrowed his brows. “Ryon, you swore an oath of fealty to the _Crown_ …not to me personally. Please don’t make me command you.”

Ryon grew defensive, folding massive arms across his chest. “Well, you’re going to have to, because I will _not_ voluntarily leave your side.”

“Very well,” Aidan muttered, his voice breaking a little. “Captain, I command you…should it become apparent that my life will be forfeit…ride with all due haste to Kirkwall. Deliver this message…and answer any questions Sebastian may ask.”

With Aidan’s statement, it finally became clear that this situation—this threat—was real. Ryon cleared his throat nervously. “Fine. _Any_ questions he asks? Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Aidan whispered, biting his lower lip. “It’s time.”

Fordham approached the Prince. “And what of me, Your Highness? Do you wish me to stay, or to depart for Kirkwall to support Richard?”

Aidan glanced sideways at the Seeker in Starkhaven colors. “Stay, if you would. I cannot spare anyone else, though I know your loyalty is to the Divine.”

Fordham gave a nervous smile and ran a hand through his blond hair. “I believe the Divine would not have a problem with me ensuring a principality does not fall to magic. Considering what happened at the Circle, I cannot rule out the possibility that blood magic is involved.”

Aidan seemed to relax a bit. “It’s settled then. I’d like both of you to guard the Princess and I, in shifts. Fordham, you take night watch. Ryon, days. At the first sign of trouble, Ryon will leave for Kirkwall, that means you’ll have to get him if it happens at night, Fordham. I don’t think I need to tell either of you to be on your toes at all times. Good luck, and Maker guide you in the coming days.”

Ryon and Fordham nodded in agreement, and Ryon unlocked the cell door. The three exited, walking in silence through the corridor, until Aidan turned off towards the tunnel leading to the palace.

Ryon returned to his office and changed out of his heavy dragonbone plate, opting to put on lighter leathers before returning home. As he changed, he couldn’t help but think of his wife, five children, and now a very pregnant Elizabeth MacNair at his house with no man around to keep them safe. _I’m going to be at the Palace near-constantly…and whoever comes after the Vaels might very well strike my home as well._ The possibility of an attack against his defenseless family made Ryon’s blood run cold, and he started to pace—half-dressed—desperate to come up with a way to keep his loved ones safe while still performing his duty. _Aidan said there’s no room for the family…what if I send them away? Hmm…there’s no love lost between Mary and my brother, but Christian would take them in without hesitation. Only problem I can see is that the MacNair lass is likely to give birth any time now. Still…I think it would be better to take the chance._

Once he had settled upon sending his family off to his brother in Cumberland, Ryon finished putting on his leathers and left the keep. As he approached the Seneschal’s residence, Ryon frowned and shook his head. _Damn foolish boy. He’s going to get himself killed. And for what? His unnatural lover? If he knew what was good for him, he’d send Bryan away…_

And then it hit him like a hammer; if Gavin could be convinced to send Bryan with his family, he would kill two birds with one stone. The Seneschal could report to the Palace without fearing for Bryan’s safety, and Ryon could do his duty knowing that his family had a trained fighter traveling with them. He knew Bryan was good with a blade; he had taught him personally. Ryon smiled to himself as he veered towards Gavin’s doorstep.

**_o-O-o_ **

“I can’t believe that bastard sometimes,” Gavin spat as he paced in front of the fireplace. “I mean, he actually said that he couldn’t make room for one more person. Yet he has no problem putting up lesser Vaels like that idiot cousin of mine.” He paused; running a hand through his wiry auburn hair while his chocolate eyes reflected the orange flames, appearing to blaze just as hot as his temper. He laughed bitterly, the sound echoing chillingly through the main room of the manor. “I mean…if there’s one Vael that needs to be culled, it’s Goran. Why wouldn’t he listen to reason? He claims to accept our lifestyle, yet when it really matters, my love is the first to get thrown aside like trash.”

Bria and Bryan watched him, glancing at each other occasionally, each hoping that the other would somehow know what to do or say to get Gavin to calm down. It didn’t help that he had his sword in hand. Finally, Bria took a timid pair of steps forward, waving her pale hand to get her husband’s attention.

“Gavin, love,” she whispered.

Gavin stopped his ranting, looked at his wife—an ethereal vision in pale pink silk, radiant both due to the firelight and her growing belly—and couldn’t help the warm smile that overtook his face. _I’m such a lucky man. Who could stay mad with such a sweet angel in front of him?_ He sheathed his sword and took a deep, calming breath.

At his reaction, Bria came even closer, taking care to speak in a calm, soothing tone. “I’m sure there’s some way we can come up with to protect Bryan _and_ get us to the Palace. If your father wants you close, clearly there’s something serious going on…so let’s just work this out. _Please_. The midwife wants me to avoid stress as much as possible, and this isn’t helping.”

Gavin furrowed his brow and knelt down in front of Bria, gently touching her belly. “The midwife is concerned? Is everything alright?” _Maker, please…protect my sweet lass and our child…_

“She thinks because of my size, the baby could come early. I’m to lie down as much as I can stand to,” the pale blonde replied, putting her hand on top of Gavin’s.

Gavin swallowed hard. “So you want to go to the Palace, then?” _If I have to suck up my pride, so be it. Anything she wants…it’s done._

Bria hesitated for a moment, and then nodded. “I think so…yes. I think I would be less worried if I knew where everybody was.”

“Gavin, don’t worry about me,” Bryan said softly as he approached and stroked his love’s hair. “I can go to Tantervale…or maybe Kirkwall—I could check on Sebastian, actually.”

Gavin looked up at Bryan with tears in his eyes. _As much as I don’t want to be separated, I must admit the possibility of having someone check on Seb is tempting._ “You’d…be willing to do that—to go to Kirkwall?”

Bryan grinned. “Sure, why not? Just send me a message when everything settles down, and I’ll come right back,” he said rather cheerfully, leaning down and kissing Gavin’s head. “I promise.”

Gavin rose abruptly and cradled Bryan’s cheeks. He was just about to kiss his longtime lover when a knock at the door interrupted him. “Stay right there,” he ordered Bryan, and gestured for Bria to sit down. The Seneschal crossed the great room and opened the door.

“Captain Ryon…what a surprise,” Gavin growled. “Come to drag me to the Palace, have you?”

“No,” Ryon said. “I have…a proposition. May I come in?”

“By all means,” Gavin replied, standing aside and gesturing for Ryon to enter. He shut the door as soon as the captain was in the room.

Ryon rounded on Gavin as the door clicked shut. “I’ll get right to it,” he said stiffly. “You need to get to the Palace, but you won’t go if Bryan is in danger. As it turns out…my family is in danger as well. I’m sending them to Cumberland, to stay with my brother. I would like Bryan to accompany them.”

“That’s right…your oldest boy isn’t quite fourteen, is he?” Gavin muttered, scratching his chin.

“No, he is not. And I’ll be sending the Baroness MacNair with them. It’s a tricky enough journey without _that_ little complication.”

As soon as he saw who was at the door, Bryan had started to approach. He knew Captain Ryon well enough; first from the days when he would have to sneak in and out of Gavin’s bedchamber, then from the sword fighting lessons that he insisted Bryan have if he was going to be so close to Gavin. He got within earshot just in time to hear Ryon mention his desire to have Bryan accompany his family to Cumberland, and when he heard the Captain’s oldest boy was only thirteen, his mind was set.

“I’ll do it,” Bryan blurted. Both Gavin and Ryon looked at him, stunned.

“Are you certain,” Gavin said, a pleading look on his face. Bryan wasn’t sure if the look was because he didn’t want Bryan to go, or because Bryan wouldn’t be going to Kirkwall.

Bryan nodded. “The Captain has a young family. I cannot let them travel without my blade, now that I know about the situation.”

Gavin chewed his lower lip as he stared at the floor. He finally turned towards the captain. “Ryon, when will your family be leaving?”

“In the morning.”

“Bryan will leave with you now, then,” Gavin said quietly. “But we need a moment with him, if you please.”

“Of course. I’ll wait here,” Ryon replied.

Gavin looked at Bryan and, saying nothing, gently took his hand and led him back over to the fireplace. He cradled his cheeks again, like he had moments ago, and pressed his forehead to Bryan’s. Gavin took several deep breaths as tears spilled over, falling to the rug below. He finally backed away and the two men locked eyes, years of companionship allowing them to speak volumes without saying anything.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” Bryan whispered finally.

“What if there’s nothing to come back to?” Gavin asked. Bryan knew what he meant.

“Then I will cut down every last man on Thedas to avenge you.”

Bria watched her husband and their lover whispering to each other but couldn’t make out the words. She rubbed her belly after a particularly hard kick from the baby and decided that was her cue to say her goodbye as well. She rose from her chair awkwardly and approached her men, wrapping her arms around both of them. They each bent down and kissed her platinum hair.

“I’ll be back before the baby comes,” Bryan said reassuringly. He stooped over and whispered something to Bria’s belly before kissing it. She swallowed hard and gave him a weak smile.

“Well, you’ll at least get some practice with a wee one, I guess. I think Elizabeth MacNair is due any day,” Bria muttered nervously. The knot in her stomach tightened just a bit; somehow she knew Bryan wouldn’t be there when her baby came.

“That’s a very good point,” Bryan murmured. “You’re so brilliant, sweetheart. Take it easy, just for me?”

Bria nodded as a stray tear slipped down her cheek. She brushed it away and blinked back the others that threatened to follow. Bryan kissed her, then Gavin, and finally went upstairs to pack.

Gavin took Bria in his arms and stroked her hair as she started to sob. “Shhh, sweetheart…remember, don’t let yourself get stressed. Bryan will be back in no time at all…you’ll see,” he whispered into her hair. Gavin led her back to a chair before returning to speak to Ryon.

Gavin rubbed at the back of his neck awkwardly. “Sorry, Ryon. It’s just…well, I don’t remember the last time I spent the night without him. And Bria’s very fond of him as well. We’ll be okay, though. This is only temporary,” he said, more to convince himself than Ryon.

“Right, Seneschal. Probably only a couple of weeks. Thank you for allowing him to accompany my family. I owe you a debt,” Ryon said, giving Gavin a grim look.

Gavin shook his head. “Look…I know he’s technically my servant, but Bryan’s had his autonomy for years. I would have your wife and children treat him as an ordinary man. As such, you owe me no debt—you heard Bryan himself volunteer to go.”

“I didn’t mean it like… _that_ , Seneschal. What I meant is I know he’s an important part of your life, and that sending him away is very difficult. I hope to repay this kindness someday,” Ryon said warmly, and Gavin was surprised at how different the normally hardened man sounded.

“Oh.” It was all Gavin could manage to say in such an odd moment. Both men looked down, to the side, anywhere but at each other. The silence between them was uncomfortable, but not tense, as they waited for Bryan to return. Gavin opened his mouth as if to speak a couple of times, ultimately choosing to hold his tongue and resume the interminable wait.

Just then, Bryan descended the staircase, loaded pack strapped across his back, and stopped to give Bria one last kiss before joining the other men at the door. To his surprise, Gavin pulled him in for a deep, passionate lip lock—something he usually avoided doing in front of others. Once they broke apart, Ryon gave the two of them an awkward look. Gavin nodded once, and Bryan whispered _goodbye_ as he passed through the door with the captain. Bria approached, and the pair watched as Bryan and Captain Ryon walked down the street, turning at the next intersection, and then they were gone.

“Well…then…I guess we’d better start packing so we can get to the Palace on time,” Bria whispered as Gavin craned his head, desperate to get one more glimpse of Bryan. She tugged at Gavin’s sleeve and gave him a knowing look when he turned towards her. Gavin let out a sigh and nodded, following his wife up the stairs.

**_0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0_ **

****

**_The next day (17 th day of Solace), sometime around 3am:_ **

_Aidan watched as his beloved Andra sweetly slept. She deserved it, he thought. The wasting sickness had ravaged her body terribly; generous curves were now flattened, her cheeks hollowed, eyes sunken. Not a single physician or healer could help her and so the illness had been sucking away at the Princess’ life for nearly a month._

_The Prince of Starkhaven was rapt, watching his wife’s chest rise and fall, when she suddenly started coughing. She started to splutter, and Aidan helped ease her into an upright position._

_“Aidan,” she managed to get out between coughs, “I fear…I don’t have…much time left…please…gather the children?”_

_“Of course, sweetheart,” Aidan replied somberly and he reluctantly left her side. As he left their bedchamber, the sound of Andra’s violent hacking sent a chill up his spine._

_Some time later, Aidan returned with Corbinian, Gavin, Aileen, and Hannah, as well as their wives and children. Thankfully, Andra’s fit had subsided, with only occasional coughs breaking through as she fought to keep her eyes open._

_“Thank you, love,” Andra said with a weak smile. “But where’s Sebastian?”_

_“Father sent him away,” Gavin said bitterly._

_“Oh…’tis a pity I shall not see him again,” she mumbled, and started to hack violently again. Unlike other times, this coughing spell produced bloody sputum. Andra wiped her mouth and then touched her lips, gasping when she saw the bright stain on both her fingers and the handkerchief. “Oh dear…oh dear…”_

_Aidan’s eyes filled with tears as Andra settled back into her pillows. “No, sweetheart…it’s not time yet…please…”_

_“I’m so very tired, Aidan…I’m just going to close my eyes for a few moments…” Andra said as her eyelids fluttered shut. Her breathing became shallow and started to slow._

_Aidan grabbed her hand. “Andra, love, wake up…please!”_

_But the Princess of Starkhaven did not wake. Instead, her breathing slowed even more. Tears spilled down Aidan’s face as her chest stilled. A moment later, her dry lips parted and a strangled rattle emanated from her body. Andra Vael was dead._

_Aidan closed his eyes and when he opened them, he was in the Starkhaven Chantry, kneeling before an elaborately carved marble sarcophagus. On top of it was an effigy of Andra in peaceful repose, her fine features rendered brilliantly. Aidan rose and leaned over it, stroking the cool stone cheek of the figure before bending down as if to kiss it. As he did, he lost his balance and fell forward, into a flaming chasm where the sarcophagus had just been._

“NO!” Aidan gasped as he sat straight up in bed, wide-eyed, pulse racing. He swiped a hand across his forehead to wipe away the sweat and looked over to where Andra slept. She was lying on her back, hands resting on her heart, completely still. A single beam of moonlight streamed in through the gap in the drapes and shone its cold blue light upon her, making her skin look like marble—like the effigy from his dream. Terrified, Aidan screamed and scrambled to get off the bed. In his haste, he fell and hit his head on the nightstand.

Andra woke when Aidan screamed, opening her eyes just in time to see him fling his body over the edge of the bed. She threw off the blankets and climbed out of the bed, finding her husband lying on the floor with a gash on his forehead. “Aidan, wake up,” she cried as she gently slapped at his cheeks. Aidan’s blue eyes fluttered open and when he spotted Andra, he screamed again, convinced that his wife was somehow undead and that he was about to join her.

“Shhh, Aidan, calm down. You were having a nightmare,” Andra whispered, stroking his cheek. “You fell out of the bed and hit your head on the nightstand. Are you alright?”

Aidan stared at his wife for several moments, blinking hard, head pounding. Finally, his mind righted itself and he let out a sigh of relief. “It was terrible, sweetheart…I thought I’d lost you. Then I woke up and the light was hitting you just right—“

Andra ran her thumb over his chin. “And I looked dead, right?”

“H-How did you know?”

“Because I’ve woken in the night to find you looking the same way. Rest assured, I’m fine. Come on back to bed,” Andra said with a smile. She leaned down and kissed her husband before climbing back into their four-poster bed. Aidan slowly got up and made his way to the washbasin, splashing water on his face to clean off the cut on his forehead. He dried off and approached the bed again, watching Andra sleep. Aidan slid under the covers and laid there, wide-awake, for the better part of the night.

Several hours later, Captain Ryon and Bryan loaded the last of the travel trunks onto the top of the carriage. Mary MacAllister guided her youngest, four-year-old Shane, inside. She turned to her husband and travel companion and gave a weak smile. “I hope Elizabeth can make it to Cumberland.”

“If not, you’ve borne five babes, so you should be able to talk her through it, right?” Bryan asked nervously, shooting a glance inside the carriage at the pretty brunette. He found it hard to hide his instant attraction to the newly widowed woman when they were introduced the night before, and already feared for her safety during the trip.

“Aye,” Mary said, giving Bryan a funny look. _I think he likes the lass._

“Alright, in you go,” Ryon said to his wife, offering a hand and helping her with the step up into the carriage. He fastened the door, and then he and Bryan climbed onto the driver’s bench. Ryon took the reins and urged the horses forward. They rode in silence towards the docks for several minutes.

“I know I said I’d send a messenger when the coast is clear, but you need to be aware of something. If the unthinkable happens, I will be riding to Kirkwall per the Prince’s order. Once I’m done there, I will meet you in Cumberland. I will need to stay there, unfortunately. I fear if something happens to the Prince, I will also be a target due to my proximity to His Highness. You will be free to go wherever you’d like though,” Ryon said flatly, staring at his horses as they rode.

“Understood. I think if something happens to Gavin and Bria, I’d like to take care of Elizabeth. Her husband died trying to help the Crown, did he not?”

“Aye…Gavin shares much with you, I see,” Ryon grumbled. “That’s a very noble gesture. I’m surprised, though…I thought you were a fan of the men.”

“To be honest, Gavin is the only male lover I’ve ever had, or wanted. I’m just as attracted to Bria as I am to Gavin…that’s why our relationship has worked so well.”

“Hmph. To each their own, I guess. Anyway, I just wanted to share that with you, so if more than a fortnight passes and no message comes, you know what’s happened.”

“I would imagine news of such a thing would spread pretty quickly, so I’m sure we’ll find out before that,” Bryan said with a frown.

Silence reigned again as the ride continued through the streets of Starkhaven, passed quaint houses of plaster, clapboard, and stone, through the market street—where Bryan tossed a silver to a particularly desperate looking urchin—and finally arriving at the docks. Bryan and Ryon glanced at each other briefly before climbing down. Ryon tied up the horse reins to the hitching post while Bryan opened the door to the carriage. Mary, the children, and Elizabeth slowly piled out while the men unloaded the travel trunks, handing them to the dockworkers to put aboard the shallow-keeled barge.

Several minutes later, the MacAllister’s things were onboard and the boat was about to depart. Ryon hugged and kissed each of his children, and gave Elizabeth MacNair a delicate kiss on the knuckles. He clasped Bryan’s hand and shook it while the two men exchanged a knowing glance. Bryan nodded once before pulling away. Ryon watched as his family boarded the boat moments before it started to pull away from the docks. _Maker’s breath, I hope Elizabeth can hold on until they get to Cumberland…giving birth on a boat isn’t exactly ideal._

Aboard the boat, Mary MacAllister patted little Shane’s hair as she watched Ryon standing at the docks. _Sweet Andraste, bring my husband through this safely._ She waved her handkerchief at him.

Bryan glanced sidelong at Elizabeth, who was sitting down and watching the bank of the Minanter as the boat picked up speed. Her deep brown eyes were filled with tears and he could see her hands shaking. He went over, sitting by her. “I know you’ve been through a lot in the past few days, Elizabeth, but if you want to talk, I’m here for you,” he said softly.

Elizabeth looked over at him and gave him a shy smile. “Thank you, Bryan, that’s very kind. I think I’m just scared of raising a baby by myself…scared he’ll look just like his father, too.”

“Perfectly understandable, on both counts. I’ll help out however I can…if you want me to. Even after we come back to Starkhaven, if you’d like.”

“That’s a very sweet gesture, but don’t put yourself out like that out of pity for me. Besides, aren’t you, uh, _with_ the Seneschal?”

“The Seneschal is married, with a child on the way. Once the baby comes, I am planning to extract myself from the situation. And my offer isn’t out of pity—I find myself genuinely wanting to do this. I wouldn’t offer otherwise.”

_He’s very handsome…and the baby will need a father. I think I can give this a chance. For the baby. If we get along, all the better. _“Well, in that case…I certainly won’t turn down your offer,” Elizabeth said with a smile.

Bryan returned the grin and offered his hand. She hesitated for a moment, but took it and he reveled in how her fingers threaded between his. _I love Gavin and Bria, but it’s time to let them go…to be my own man. Maker’s Breath, Elizabeth is a beauty._

**_0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0_ **

****

**_19 th day of Solace:_ **

Aidan sat in bed as sunlight started to trickle through the gaps in the drapes—having given up on the idea of sleep some time ago—and rubbed his bleary eyes. _Yet another sleepless night._ He’d barely gotten three hours of sleep since his nightmare about Andra, and the lack of rest was starting to make him a bit jittery.

The Prince crossed the bedchamber to the washstand and poured water into the basin. Grabbing his shaving brush, he dunked it into the water and shook the excess before swirling it across his cake of soap. Once properly lathered, he swept the brush across his stubbled cheeks and picked up his straight blade. He looked up into the mirror, the blade nearly at his throat, and froze.

The reflection in the looking glass had a dire gash across the throat, a river of crimson flooding the front of his nightshirt.

Aidan dropped the blade and nearly fell on his arse in his effort to get away from his own reflection. Hitting the wall behind him, he desperately gripped it in order to steady himself. He took several long, deep breaths to calm down. _Maker’s breath, man…I’m losing my damned mind!_ Gathering his wits, Aidan pushed away from the wall and washed the soap from his face. _If I’m this out of sorts, perhaps ‘tis a good time to grow a beard…at least until I get some decent sleep again._

Later that day, Captain Ryon stood guard outside of Aidan’s office. One of his guardsmen arrived; when he recognized the man as Wallace, Ryon assumed that he came with news of Alec Vael’s arrival. “Alec has finally arrived, I take it?” Ryon asked, folding his arms across his chest.

Wallace shifted nervously on his feet. “Not exactly, sir. We found…well, perhaps you should come with me.”

“Wallace, you know I cannot leave my post. Just tell me what you found,” Ryon barked.

“Very well…the Prince’s brother, his wife, and two daughters are dead. His son is nowhere to be found,” the guardsman said quietly. “Their litter was found about a mile outside of the city walls. All their bodyguards and servants were killed as well.”

Ryon’s knees buckled at the news, and he was thankful that he was already leaning against the wall or else he might have fallen. “Give me a few minutes to get Fordham up here to take my place. I’ll meet you in the Keep shortly.”

“I can go get Fordham for you, ser,” Wallace said.

Ryon thought for a moment, fidgeting with his gauntlet. “Yes, do that. I’ll…break the news to His Highness.” Wallace nodded and gave his captain a stiff bow before turning sharply and retreating. Ryon stared at the red carpet runner on the floor and let out a breath. _The hits just keep coming, don’t they?_ Swallowing hard, he knocked on Aidan’s door before entering.

The Prince, who looked like he had been trying to get a nap on his desk, straightened up with a start when Ryon entered. “Ryon,” he growled, voice gravelly, “has my brother arrived?”

Ryon bowed towards Aidan. “I-I don’t know how else to say this, Your Highness, so I’ll just be out with it. I just received word that your brother and his family were found dead on the road just outside of the city. I’m told that Goran’s body was nowhere to be found,” he blurted, balling his fists at his sides.

Aidan sat there, silent, for several long moments. He opened his mouth a couple of times as if to speak, but no words came—only tears.

“Your Highness, I have Fordham on his way to take watch outside your door. I’d like to see this for myself,” Ryon whispered.

“You know, Alec and I used to fight so bitterly when we were boys,” Aidan mumbled, seemingly unaware that Ryon had said anything. “But when we each married, we found comfort in spending time together. We used to spend each Sunday evening in here with Father, drinking scotch, and talking about life. I remember the day that Father died…we were in here for hours, reminiscing about him, wishing somehow that he’d wake up but we both knew he was gone. He begged me to do something to ease Father’s suffering. You know what he said? He said that a man who lives his life honorably deserves to go out with dignity. Alec was an honorable man…he didn’t deserve to be murdered. Find out who did this. I’ll make the sonuvabitch pay.”

“I’ll do my best, Sire. You have my word,” Ryon said firmly.

A knock on the door interrupted them, and Fordham peeked inside the room. “Captain, I’m here now. Wallace will take you to the scene.”

“Thank you, Fordham,” Ryon said over his shoulder. He looked at Aidan and drew in a sharp breath. The Prince looked up at him with bleary, dark-circled eyes and gave his captain a weak smile. Ryon bowed and left Aidan to mourn.

Approximately thirty minutes later, Ryon and Wallace halted their horses. Three burned-out carriages, horses long-gone, stood like silent witnesses to a horrific crime. Scattered about were the bodies of a half-dozen guards and as many servants. Everything was scorched—even the grass. The men climbed from their mounts and started to walk around carefully.

“Where are the—oh,” Ryon muttered as he crested a small hill and found the bodies of Alec, his wife Bryn, and their daughters Kenna and Lora. They were in a row, as though sleeping side-by-side. The bodies were surrounded by blood but, strangely, the Vaels themselves had no wounds at all. Ryon frowned as he took in the scene, and moments later it struck him that he’d recently seen bodies in exactly this same state. _First Enchanter Quinn and Knight-Commander Warrick._ A shiver ran down his spine as the realization hit him that the same person who destroyed the Circle was very likely the one who murdered the Vaels.

“I’ve seen enough. I’m going back to the Palace. I’ll send reinforcements to help transport the bodies. Keep looking for Goran.”

“Yes, sir,” Wallace said as Ryon got back on his horse and galloped away.

**_0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0_ **

****

**_20 th day of Solace:_ **

Aidan sat up in bed again, for what seemed like the twentieth time that night, yanked from slumber by the piercing wail of a child. He keened his ears toward the sound and finally heard a hushed female voice murmuring something moments before the crying stopped. _It’s real…this time._ He settled back against his pillows, squeezing his eyes shut as if to will himself to sleep, but after only a few moments, the cries woke him again. This time they weren’t real. _I’m losing my damn mind. Hearing things, seeing myself with a slit throat a few days ago…I know if I could only get a good night’s rest these would stop._ He let out a frustrated huff and swung his feet over the edge of the bed, sliding them into lambs wool-lined slippers as he stood. The Prince then grabbed his robe and exited the bedchamber.

“Can’t sleep again, Your Highness,” Fordham whispered as Aidan closed the door. “Should I have one of the men go get the Court Physic for you?”

“No, no,” Aidan mumbled. “I’m just going to duck into Corbinian’s quarters…check on my grandchildren.”

Fordham gave him a quizzical look but said nothing. Aidan scratched at his whiskered chin as he approached Corbinian’s door. The posted guard was startled, but dared not deny the Prince—not even at four in the morning.

When Aidan stepped inside, he found his daughter-in-law Mara cradling little Ainsley, pacing in a figure eight in front of the fireplace. The flame-haired toddler was nuzzling into her mother’s neck, seemingly asleep. Mara noticed Aidan and gave him a wearied smile. “Can’t sleep if I’m not holding her, it seems. It’s been a long night. I hope she didn’t wake you,” she whispered.

Aidan approached, running his thick fingers over the little girl’s ringlets. “She did…but it’s okay. It’s incredible how angelic they look when they’re sleeping, isn’t it?”

Ainsley stirred, opening her eyes just enough to see Aidan. She gave him an impish grin. “Gran…da,” she murmured before her blue eyes fluttered shut again.

Mara shook her head lightly and smirked at her father-in-law. “Especially _this_ one. I swear…must be something in the Vael blood. She’s gonna be trouble when she starts noticing boys, I think.”

“Maker, help us all,” Aidan chuckled. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to look in on the other two for a moment.”

“That’s fine,” Mara replied. “Though if you have time later, I know they’d love to have their Grandda come spend time with them.”

“Yes…I think I’ll make time for that today,” Aidan said as he walked to the small side chamber where the children’s beds were. _Funny to think this used to be Corbinian and Gavin’s shared wardrobe room…and now it’s a makeshift bedchamber for my grandchildren._ His grandson was sleeping backwards on his bed, tiny feet on the pillow instead of his head, blankets wadded against the wall. In the crib was Fiona, swaddled snugly. The Prince smiled and backed out of the room. He nodded towards Mara as he exited his eldest son’s chambers and returned to his own. Satisfied that the grandchildren were safe, Aidan was finally able to get a couple of hours of sleep before having to wake.

Later that day, true to his word, Aidan knocked on the door to Corbinian’s chambers and entered, nearly knocked onto his backside when swarmed by Malcolm and Ainsley.  

**_0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0_ **

****

**_22 nd day of Solace:_ **

Aidan glared at the silver dome covering his supper as the servant pulled it away, revealing a generous helping of roast lamb, boiled potatoes, and a side of pickled vegetables. He glanced up at the servant, a young red-haired man with hazel eyes. The man swallowed thickly as Aidan sized him up, glancing between his Prince and the plate. The Prince’s blue eyes narrowed and, without warning, he flipped the plateful of food towards the servant, scattering the still-steaming meal to the ground.

“Who are you? Who do you work for?” Aidan demanded as he rose from his place at the head of the table and seized the lad’s white shirt, nearly lifting him off the ground.

“W-what? I-I-I don’t know what you m-mean,” the servant stammered. “I’ve been in your employ since I was ten.”

“Aidan!” Andra shouted as she rushed over. “What’s gotten into you? Don’t you recognize Rory?” She grabbed Aidan’s hands, urging him to release his grip. Aidan looked between Rory and his wife, recognition setting in at last. He let Rory go, the redhead wobbling as he settled back onto his feet. Aidan flopped into his chair, burying his face in his hands, ashamed and exhausted.

Andra rubbed his back and leaned in close. “Love, let me call for a new plate. You need to eat…it’s bad enough you haven’t been sleeping.” Aidan nodded weakly, and Andra approached Rory, asking him to bring another plate—but to hand it to _her_ first this time.

Moments later, Andra set the new plate in front of Aidan and took the first bite of potatoes, reassuring him that the food was fine. He gave his wife an awkward smile and dug in. Andra returned to her seat, and the rest of the Vaels resumed eating. As he chewed on the succulent lamb, Aidan watched his family tear into their plates, not talking, bent on getting away from the table as soon as possible. None dared look towards the head of the table—at him. A pang of guilt wracked him. _Are they not talking to each other because I am present? Do they all hate me? Think me a monster? I can’t stand how I’m ostracized because of…_ Something in Aidan snapped then. He knew then that it was all because of Sebastian, how he sent his youngest son to the Chantry, how whenever it seemed like the lad would be brought back home, something always happened to keep Sebastian away. Aidan frowned, slowly picking away at his plate as he resolved to figure out a way to ease the tension, when he had an epiphany. _That’s it. No more secrets. I’ve done a lot of terrible things in my life—perhaps the worst being that I haven’t been open and honest with my own damned family. If they choose to abandon me, let them do so because they know the truth from me directly._

“Would you like to know the real reason Sebastian’s not here with us?” Aidan blurted. Utensils clattered against pewter plates as everyone froze and stared at the Prince.  He shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. Near the opposite end, he noticed Gavin cringe but nod, an unspoken encouragement to continue.

“I should have been honest with all of you from the beginning of this whole mess. If you had known the predicament our boy found himself in…well, it’s no use dwelling in the past. Perhaps going forward, however, we can all work together to find a way to convince him to come home. Anyway, I sent him to Val Royeaux because his lass Colleen was the illegitimate daughter of a Kirkwall noble…”

The words were shaky at first, but as he spoke Aidan found himself relaxing with each new revelation, with each secret unearthed. The Vaels sat there, rapt, listening to Aidan speak of Colleen’s pregnancy, the conspiracies, the assassination attempts—everything that had happened over the past five years, everything that had led to them being gathered in the palace, hoping against hope that the worst of Aidan’s fears would never come to pass. Tears streamed down Andra’s face, then everybody else’s, as they realized just how hard Aidan had been working to protect them—to protect Sebastian. Aidan finished nearly an hour later—everyone’s dinner had long gone cold—and he folded his hands in his lap, looking down at them and letting out a huge sigh. When he lifted his head again, he looked ten years younger, the unimaginable burden of a lifetime of public service eased at long last.

Nobody at the long dining table spoke. None dared to. Annoyed with her children and their families, Andra finally coughed to gain attention. “Thank you, Your Highness, for sharing,” she said calmly. “I know I speak for us all when I say I am glad you have done all these things to protect us, Sebastian, and Starkhaven. We are beyond blessed to have you as our patriarch and Prince.”

The others started to nod and softly offer their own thanks. Gavin pushed back from the table and approached Aidan, offering his hand. Aidan rose, took it, and they shook as men before embracing as father and son. Corbinian did the same, then daughters Aileen and Hannah, and finally his sons’ wives Mara and Bria.

“I’m so proud of you, love. I only wish your mother could have lived long enough to see you finally realize that all your secrets were killing you,” Andra whispered as she wrapped her arms around Aidan’s neck.

In a fit of joy, Aidan lifted her up, spinning around for a moment before giving her a hearty kiss. Her brown eyes glittered with a spark Aidan had long thought dead due to his own foolishness, and it touched off an ache in his heart he had nearly forgotten entirely.

“Can you forgive this stupid man for his sins?” Aidan purred in her ear, soft and raspy all at once.

The coquettish smile he received in return was the only answer he needed.

**_o-O-o_ **

**_Meanwhile, in Kirkwall:_ **

A trio—two men and a woman—stepped out of the Hightown mansion of Guillaume de Launcet. One of the men smiled to himself as he tossed a softball-sized pouch between his hands. He paused, tossing the pouch at the woman as she pulled up beside him. “And that’s how it’s done,” Davey muttered as Aspasia Hawke caught the bag of gold. “We shake him down for protection now, and when the guy who wanted him killed ups his payment, we turn and shank him anyway. Double the coin or better, and one more spoiled swine gone.” His voice, much like his hair, had an oiliness to it.

Aspasia stared at the pouch. It felt wrong… _tainted_. “Keep it,” she spat, thrusting the pouch back at Davey. “If you want to double-cross every last person you meet, that’s your choice. I, for one, will protect the Comte de Launcet, as I promised.” She started to walk again.

“Me too,” Carver chimed in, taking his sister’s stance and quickening his pace to catch her.

“Fine, have it your way,” Davey said as he stuffed the coin into his belt pouch and trotted after the Hawkes. “At least let me buy the drinks tonight, eh?”

“I’m okay with that,” Carver said. _Free ale? I’m not gonna turn that down!_

“Me too,” Aspasia said with a reluctant grin. The trio walked down the stairs from the Estates, and as they entered the Chantry courtyard they heard a terrible commotion and stopped in their tracks.

“What is that— _where_ is that?” Carver said as he craned his neck, trying to get a bearing on the noise’s origin point.

“Up there—look!” Aspasia shouted, pointing towards the top of the Chantry staircase. A lone man in black armor was fighting off a half-dozen thugs. _Green armbands…splintmail…those are foreign mercenaries._

Davey reached for his daggers as he snarled. “Those fools are on our turf. Are we gonna let them get away with that?”

“Maker, no,” Carver growled as he grabbed for his greatsword. “Let’s go.”

Aspasia, Carver, and Davey rushed to the top of the stairs. As she prepared to start casting, Aspasia couldn’t help but be mesmerized by the man in black as he fought. He moved like a dancer—swift, graceful—as he whirled and twirled with twin daggers in his hands, making cuts here and there on his attackers with incredible precision. It looked effortless, and the sheer joy of fighting shone in the man’s pale gray-green eyes. After a few moments of staring, Aspasia shook herself back to reality and cast a cone of ice that encapsulated the three men closest to him. _He has to be an assassin. I’ve never seen an ordinary fighter move like that…but why are they outside the Chantry, of all places?_ With the additional help, the foreign mercenaries were vanquished in moments, and it was only then that the man in black acknowledged their presence at all.

“My name is Richard,” he said as he approached Aspasia, pulling off a black leather glove. _Is that…a Nevarran accent?_ Aspasia followed his lead, removing her fingerless gloves and presenting her hand. He took it with a flourish, brushing a kiss across her knuckles as he bowed deeply. “I am at your service, for the help you have so graciously provided.” Richard stood back up and smiled, twin dimples forming in his cheeks.

“My name is Hawke,” Aspasia replied, fighting the blush that threatened to creep across her cheeks. “And really…we recognized that they were foreigners stepping on our turf. The same could be said of you, actually.” She noticed that Davey was eyeing Richard suspiciously.

Richard had a bemused expression on his face. “Hawke…what an interesting name. I am no mercenary, Mistress Hawke. I assure you, I am not a threat to your band in any way. I am merely a servant of the Chantry.”

Aspasia cocked her head and squinted. “So you’re a Templar? I’ve never seen Templars in black armor before.”

“I am part of an elite group, let’s just say that. I am here to guard someone within this Chantry. I cannot speak of it more, I’m sorry. I should go inside, to make sure my charge is safe. Thank you again, Mistress Hawke. I have a feeling we may meet again someday,” Richard said curtly as he ducked inside the Chantry, rushing up to the dormitories. _Why are mercenaries coming for Sebastian after all this time? I should send word to Fordham…make sure things are all right in Starkhaven. This was the largest group I’ve ever faced here…had Mistress Hawke not arrived just in time…well; thank the Maker she did._

**_o-O-o_ **

**_Starkhaven, just after midnight:_ **

“That was incredible, my love,” Aidan whispered as he pulled Andra closer to him, reveling in the sensation of her bare back pressed to his chest. _Nearly thirty years and she still knows how to put a spell on me, I swear._

“And you thought you were too tired,” Andra teased, pulling her husband’s muscular arm around her like a blanket.

“I was…I _am_ …but I have to know, what brought that on?” Aidan asked, still a little breathless, as he nuzzled his wife’s neck.

Andra thought for several moments before letting out a light sigh. “Tonight…at dinner. When you spoke to us, told us everything…it was the most raw I’ve ever seen you. It’s very possibly the first time you’ve acted more like a husband and father and less like a Prince. I mean…all those years you hid the truth from us…don’t you see now that it’s much easier just to be open and honest?”

“I do. And I swear to you, I’ll never hide anything from you again. I’m so sorry.”

Andra turned her head as much as her position would allow. “I’m just glad you finally saw the error of your ways. I love you so much.” _I hope he really means it this time…_

“I love you too, An. Thank you for being such an amazing wife and mother…thank you for our babies…thank…you…” Aidan trailed off as he drifted off into much-needed sleep. Andra chuckled lightly to herself and closed her eyes, listening to her husband’s gentle breaths as he fell deeper and deeper into slumber. Before long, she too had drifted off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, I'm so glad to be back! I've been working on the endgame for a while, but sometimes life hands you lemons and you have to make a crapload of lemonade before you can get back to what you love. 
> 
> I know this was supposed to be the final chapter of the story, but it wound up being over 15k words. I found a handy breaking point, but that left me with an odd number of chapters, which tweaks my OCD. So a small epilogue/bridge will round this out at 30 chapters. Final edits on those two chapters are awaiting a final review and should be posted soon.
> 
> Thanks to my wonderful beta, Kira Tamarion, and as always any outstanding errors are my own.


	29. There Will Be Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Vaels are hunkered down in the Starkhaven Palace and the tension couldn't have been higher before this evening's supper. Now that Aidan has confessed everything about Sebastian's exile to his family, he is finally able to relax...but for how long?
> 
> This is the coup that nearly destroyed the Vael line.

**_Starkhaven Palace, 23 rd day of Solace, just after midnight:_ **

In the tunnels below Starkhaven, a stealthy Flint Company rogue dropped a stun bomb in front of the guards stationed at the door leading into the Palace. He made quick work of the trio, yanking their heads to the side in order to expose their throats before slashing them. As soon as he finished, two more mercenaries came out from the nearby corridor.

Slade wiped his daggers and sheathed them, tallying the number of Royal Guardsmen they’d already accounted for. “Okay…six patrolling the city, three here. Jacques said there were four more outside the portcullis to the palace. That’s thirteen. Our man on the inside said there are only thirty men, tops, so we only have seventeen more to get through.”

“Yeah, but the Vael men are no doubt trained wit’ blades. Seems we oughta account f’ that some’ow,” a short blond man grumbled.

“Okay, okay, whatever, Ehren. Consider it nineteen left, then. My point is we have twenty-five men. We outnumber them. Now…once we get inside, we must get to the main door and open it for the others. As far as the Vaels are concerned, Johane wanted us to gather them up so just knock them out as you find them. Gag, bind, hood—you know, standard procedure. Our man says the Captain has a special cell in the Keep that’s soundproof. I think we should bring the Vaels there, so we can kill ‘em and not have anybody hear. That way the bodies can be dumped before daybreak.”

“Who is our guy onna inside, anyway?”

“A bloke named Shane MacGregor. He’s only been there a few years…sounds like he was planted there by Baron Treadgold before he got knocked off. Anyway, he’ll be inside to help us get the others inside. Remember…kill only if you need to, and use your stealth talents wisely. We’ll go for the main doors first and then spread out once the others are in. Ready?”

The two others nodded, and Slade checked the door. _Locked._ He rifled through the dead guardsmen’s pockets and found a key. Unlocking the entrance, Slade motioned for the others to stealth themselves before he finished opening the door. The three assassins slipped through, making their way up the staircase in order to reach the main level of the Palace. As they approached the top of the stairs, three guards rushed down from the main floor, having been alerted by the sound of the access door’s lock tumblers echoing off the stone. The mercenaries moved quickly, striking first to disable the guards, and then ripping off their helms to slit their throats before they could react. Their motions were quick, quiet, and fatal. _Three more down,_ Slade thought.

“Alright, now Shane said he wouldn’t be wearing his helm. He’s got bright red hair—shouldn’t miss ‘im,” Slade whispered as he and his men caught their breath. He sucked in air and stealthed himself once more. The others followed suit and they proceeded to the main floor of Starkhaven’s Palace.

Slade was right—Shane MacGregor was easy to spot. The Flint Company mercenaries approached and hid themselves between the pillars at the Palace entrance before revealing themselves.

“MacGregor,” Slade hissed.

The flame-haired man glanced around furtively before backing up and, without turning his head, speaking to the space where the mercenary leader was hidden,. “You got this far…good. I’ll open the door in a moment. The captain is asleep over in the Keep, but the Seeker is standing guard outside the Prince’s bedchamber. All of the family is in the same corridor as his room, so it oughta be real easy,” he whispered, throwing his voice like a ventriloquist, lips eerily motionless as the words escaped.

“We’re to round ‘em up and take ‘em to the Keep,” Slade replied. “We’ll take care of the good captain once we get there.”

“Well, in that case…make sure I get out of here as soon as you open the door,” MacGregor shot back. “I’ve been a willing partner, but I’ll not lose my head for you.”

“Fair enough…done. Open it.”

Shane MacGregor looked around one last time before turning around and raising the bar latch that held the double doors closed. Slade crept from the shadows, shielding himself behind MacGregor as he opened the door and visually confirmed his men had made it. When he saw his squad in full force, he let Shane out, gesturing to the others to let this particular guard pass unharmed. Slade followed, giving the rest of his men the same orders he had just given the two already inside. As he re-entered the Palace, Slade looked over his shoulder and gave his men a sadistic grin.

Once inside, the Flint Company mercenaries moved quickly, bound for the royal family’s bedchambers. _Quick, quiet, fatal_ was the mantra running through each mercenary’s mind as the guardsmen that dared stand in the Flint Company’s way were dispatched. Slade and Ehren caught each other’s eye as they stood at the foot of the staircase leading to the third floor, and the longtime leader of the group gave the younger man a knowing wink. They’d done their jobs well; none of the guards who were presumably guarding the Vaels had come down to investigate. Ehren held up first five, then two fingers, and a questioning look on his face. Slade nodded and smirked. _That’s right, my friend…only seven guards left._

**_o-O-o_ **

Outside of Aidan’s room, Fordham leaned against the studded oak door, struggling to stay awake. The muffled sounds of lovemaking had ceased some fifteen minutes ago, giving way to a droning snore that threatened to lull the Seeker into sleep. _You sly old dog…good on you for finally relaxing a bit._ He straightened up, smacking himself lightly on the cheeks to shock himself awake. The palace was silent—frighteningly so—until Fordham pricked his ears at the sound of metal-on-metal clashing below. Torn between guarding the Prince and giving Captain Ryon the alert he needed, the Seeker glanced between Aidan’s door and the corridor entrance several times. _The Prince did command that I leave…very well._ He sighed and rushed forward, hissing warnings to the other guardsmen as he silently made his way out of the corridor. Once in the main hallway of the third floor, Fordham was surprised to find the pack of mercenaries already charging up the stairs. He pulled his sword and shield, readying himself for the battle to come, relieved when several of the other guards came up behind him. 

To Fordham’s dismay, the six other Royal Guardsmen proved too few against the wall of mercenaries that rushed them. They fought valiantly, cutting down nearly a dozen of the assassins, but in the end Fordham found himself the last one standing. He stood toe-to-toe with who appeared to be the leader, his lips twisted into a feral snarl as he twirled twin daggers in his hands. They paced in a circle, reflexes on a hair trigger, ready to strike as soon as the other moved—but neither man dared.

After a few moments of growing, unbearable tension, Fordham heard a muttered _Enough of this_ from one of the other attackers and knew he was done for. Glancing up briefly, Fordham stopped pacing and dropped to a knee, offering a silent prayer for strength. _I leave my fate in your hands, O Maker. Blessed are those who stand before the wicked and corr—_

_“HYKKK!”_ Fordham’s brief pause was interrupted by Ehren as he jammed his longsword deep into Fordham’s torso at an open joint in the side of his plate armor, expertly dodging ribs, destroying a lung on its way to piercing the Seeker’s heart. Fordham coughed and spluttered, the searing pain and intense pressure unlike any other injury he’d ever borne. He knew he was dying—his vision started to grow black around the edges as he felt his heartbeat grow irregular. Pitching forward, Fordham caught himself and spat out a mouthful of blood. He summoned all the strength he had left and cried a pitiful “Aidan!” before collapsing onto the crimson runner.

A couple of firm boots to the ribs confirmed that the Seeker wasn’t getting up again. “Shit. Of course he’d shout out to the Prince. We’d better get a move on if we’re going to take them alive,” Slade muttered as he rushed down towards the Vael family apartments. “Ehren, you and I will get the Prince and his wife. The rest of you, there oughta be two people in each room, except the eldest son—he’s got kids. Two or three of ‘em.”

“Do we take the kids with us,” asked one of the mercenaries bringing up the rear.

Slade paused for a moment, mere feet from Aidan and Andra’s bedchamber. “No…take care of ‘em here. The rest…bind, gag, hood. _Go_.” The other mercenaries scattered as he glanced at Ehren, who nodded in return. Together, they opened the door to Aidan’s bedchamber.

At the sound of the door opening, Andra sat straight up in bed, pulling the sheets around her still-nude form. Aidan didn’t stir, the result of several sleepless nights. _Maker, what he said was true!_

“Come quiet now, Princess. Nobody has to get hurt,” Slade snarled as he approached the bed.

Andra noticed they didn’t have swords drawn, and each man clutched rope and burlap in their hands. _Maybe they just mean to imprison us, then?_ “Fine, fine. Would you toss me my nightgown? It’s right there at your feet,” she said, voice shaking, as she pointed to the silk shift just to the right of Slade’s bloodied boot. The man picked it up and tossed it to her, and as Andra pulled it on, Aidan finally stirred.

“What is the meaning of all this? You bastards will pay!” Aidan growled as he groggily jumped out of bed, stumbling a bit from his disorientation. He’d nearly made it to his weapon stand when Ehren stopped him with a tossed boot dagger to the shoulder. Aidan dropped to his knees in pain, grimacing as he pulled the blade from his back. He was relieved that the assassin hadn’t hit his mark—and that the blade itself wasn’t very long.

That pause, however, was all Ehren needed. He was taller than the Prince, and more muscular. He seized Aidan’s arms, pinning them uncomfortably behind the royal’s back, yanking them down to put more pressure on muscles that had just been cut. Aidan let out a strangled cry of pain as the hulking mercenary yanked him to his feet.

“Ick. Do something about his…here—I think this is his nightshirt,” Slade grumbled as he picked up a linen shirt with one hand, firmly gripping Andra’s now-bound upper arm with the other. He forced the Princess to her knees and slid a gag cloth into her mouth, binding it tight behind her head before slipping the burlap sack over her pretty face.

Ehren caught the shirt with his free hand. “Now listen ‘ere, Princey. Our friend only wants t’ talk to ye. I can let ye put dis on, ‘ave some dignity, but ye gotta not fight me. Ye fight, ye die. Izzat clear?”

Aidan scowled at Ehren but nodded after he caught glimpse of Andra’s desperate expression. He took the offered garment and pulled it on roughly, putting his hands back behind his back for the assassin to bind. Fighting would only lead to more trouble, so Aidan willingly submitted to the gag and hood, just as his wife did. Slade and Ehren led their prizes out into the corridor. There they met the others, who had the rest of the family rounded up. The Flint Company paraded through the Palace unopposed, going back down the stairs to the underground tunnels without incident as they led the Vael family—bound, gagged, and hooded—down into the Keep, to their certain demise.

The shrill sound of metal-on-metal as the door from the underground opened woke Captain Ryon. _Those damn bastards; I told them they were not to move from their post until relieved in the morning. I oughta strip—_

The captain’s train of thought was interrupted when he realized that there were more than three voices and far more than three sets of footfalls that he could hear. _Those aren’t my men._ His heart skipped a beat as reality hit, and his stomach dropped down to his feet when he realized that Fordham hadn’t come to warn him. _I bet the stubborn bastard died trying to fight them all himself._ There was no time to delay, however. Thankfully, Ryon had been sleeping in a semi-dressed state for the past several nights, ready to move at a moment’s notice. He pulled on his boots and helm before slinging his blade across his back. _Note’s in my shirt pocket? Yes. Now how best to go…_ Ryon listened for several moments to determine the direction from which the voices were coming. They came from below, so the main floor of the Keep—where Ryon slept—was clear. _Good. I can go out the side door to the stable._ He still took care to creep through the Keep, however—he wasn’t about to get careless now.

It didn’t take long for Ryon to get to the stable and saddle his horse. As he pulled himself up and settled in for a long night of riding, Ryon swallowed hard. _I should go right back in there and kill all those bastards. That’s my job, not playing messenger._ He thought back to the conversation he had with Aidan several nights ago, recalling the desperate edge to the Prince’s voice. Ryon MacAllister had never disobeyed his Prince’s orders—and though it pained him to obey this particular command, he wouldn’t start tonight.

Slade fiddled with the keys he’d stolen from the first guard and found the one that opened the door to the cell Shane had spoken of. He shoved Andra inside, following her. The other mercenaries and their prisoners piled in behind him and the task of binding each Vael to a chair was done quickly. “Good, good,” he said, marveling at how the sound was swallowed up by the cell’s soft walls. “I’m going to go fetch Johane. She’s not far from here. Ehren, Jacques, Karl—you make sure the rest of the Keep is clear. I believe the Captain’s quarters are on the main floor.”

In the dank cell—hooded, no less—Aidan had no idea how much time had passed as they waited for Johane Harimann to join them. The silence was deafening…chilling. It crept into Aidan’s very soul and threatened to break the last shred of willpower he had when a faint noise in the distance broke the stillness at last. He strained to hear better, to make out what the noise was. Aidan let out a groan, muffled by the gag, when he realized that it was the dainty _click_ of a lady’s shoes against cobblestone.

Moments later, the heavy metal door screeched open.

_Click…click…click…click._ The steps were slow, deliberate, and just like that the hood was jerked from Aidan’s head. He looked up, into the face of the enemy, as she indicated for the others’ hoods to be removed as well.

“Well, well, Aidan. The years haven’t been too kind to you, have they?” Johane leaned in close, nose nearly touching his own, as wicked grey eyes danced mischievously. She ran a solitary finger down his temple, down his cheek, wedging it under the gag and pulling it out of his mouth. “It’s been a long, long time, Your Highness.”

Aidan drew in a desperate breath. “You bitch,” he snarled. “You’ll pay for this. You can’t kidnap an entire royal family and expect to get away with it.”

Johane clucked her tongue at him. “Oh, but I can…and I will. You…don’t remember me, do you? How we met?” Aidan’s confused expression spoke volumes. “Well, let me remind you. It was perhaps forty years ago. I was but thirteen and had just come into my power a year before. My parents, so desperate to hide me from your Circle, ordered to be executed for treason by your father. I had nowhere to go, so I snuck into barns, stables, sheds—wherever I could get a decent night’s sleep. Had to steal…beg…sell myself, just to get one meal every two or three days. Eventually, I found myself hiding in the Starkhaven Royal Stables. Do you remember me now?”

Aidan swallowed hard and nodded. _You went by Joy back then…and you were the very essence of it._

“Why don’t you tell the story from here, then, Your Highness? I’m sure your lovely Princess would love to hear it,” Johane said with a saccharine smile.

“I found you in our stables,” Aidan said simply. His answer was met with a sharp slap across the face.

“That’s not all and you know it,” Johane screamed, eyes filled with furious tears. “Why not tell the truth? How we fell in love, were each other’s first _everything_ …how you promised to protect me from the very Circle your father banished me to when he caught us! Why not tell your wife how you left me just when I needed you the most? And when I finally had a good life in the Circle—and a good man that loved me—you told the First Enchanter to have me made Tranquil!” A ripple of electricity rolled across the mage’s skin as she fought to calm herself.

“Joy— _Johane_ …you knew that as first in line to the Crown, I couldn’t marry a mage. Our…love…was doomed from the start. And I never meant to hurt you further, but you were dabbling in forbidden magic. I found the cursed doll under my first wife’s bed after she died in childbirth,” Aidan whispered with a shudder. “My father wanted you beheaded for treason. I couldn’t let that happen…so I asked the First Enchanter to—“

“AAAHHHHH!” A stifled cry came from the far side of the room. Aidan looked over to see Mara grimacing in pain, blood coming from every possible orifice—even the pores of her skin. Corbinian strained against his bindings, screaming through his gag at Johane, at Aidan, at Johane—all to no avail. Johane held out an open palm and quickly clamped it shut, and with that motion, Mara Vael slumped in her chair, drenched in crimson, forever silenced.

“Speaking of childbed curses,” Johane spat as she strode towards Bria, “shouldn’t you be in confinement? A dungeon is an awfully perilous place for a girl so heavy with child.” Bria scowled at the mage as Johane placed her hands on the blonde’s belly. Johane locked eyes with the petite blonde as she spoke to Aidan. “A boy. How…inconvenient. What’s worse, Your Highness, being the firstborn of your second son…or your third son? Relegated to obscurity, empty titles…hmm. Seems the only thing you can do with them is send them away to the Chantry in Kirkwall.”

Aidan’s eyes widened in shock as he pressed his lips into a thin line, struggling not to speak. Johane returned to him, leaning in close, breath sickeningly warm against his neck as she spoke. “My darling little Flora spotted him some time ago. What were you thinking, sending your boy so close to me?”

“Because he’s guarded by the best Seeker assassin Val Royeaux has ever had,” Aidan growled. Out of the corner of his eye he could see both Corbinian and Gavin fighting their restraints, and Andra sobbing quietly. “And my father trained him personally. He’s as deadly as his guardian.”

“We’ll see about that,” Johane said as she extended an arm towards Bria. “Let’s see…which son is more useless, again? I daresay it’s the one who’s never born.” Still looking at Aidan, she made a shoving motion towards Gavin’s wife, flanked by Aileen and Hannah. Their chairs flew violently against the wall. As the oak struck the soft shell wall, their heads ricocheted off it with frightening force before the trio fell back to the cobblestone floor. Both Aileen and Hannah were unconscious from the impact but still breathing. A tiny snap at the base of Bria’s skull as it whipped forward again, barely audible, was her only apparent injury…but it was the only one Johane needed to inflict. Gavin tried to hop his chair over to her, but it was no use—the solid wood was just too heavy. He growled curses through saliva-damp cloth at the mage, to no effect. Johane simply offered a contrite _oops_ in return. Ehren stepped over to the chairs, snapping the necks of Aileen and Hannah in turn—ensuring their deaths—as Johane approached Andra.

“Only one Vael lady left,” the mage said as she put a hand on each arm of Andra’s chair. “What would you do, Aidan? What would you do to keep her alive? Would you give your own life? That of your sons? How much would you give up?”

Aidan bit at his lower lip to regain some measure of control over his emotions. “Take me. Take my life. Just don’t hurt the others…please, Johane. I beg you. I never meant for any of what happened…I’m sorry. It’s long overdue, but I’m so very sorry for what happened between us.”

Johane’s head twitched slightly and she stood straight, smoothing the front of her dress. “Thank you, Aidan.” She motioned towards Slade, then Aidan…at first. At the very last moment, she flicked her eyes towards Andra and the lithe rogue stopped just behind the Princess’ chair.

“You…you…don’t! _Please_! Whatever you want, Johane…money, titles, land…it’s yours,” Aidan begged. _Please, Maker, don’t take my love. I can’t bear—_

Slade yanked back on Andra’s hair and slit her throat in one fluid motion, ending any further argument Aidan could have offered. Corbinian and Gavin’s pitiful wails were clear despite the gags and the soundproof walls. Aidan simply let his head hang, still in disbelief about what was happening.

“I’ll take whatever I want, Aidan. Haven’t you figured that out yet? I don’t need your permission,” Johane said as she watched Andra exsanguinate, eyes dancing at the sight of all that blood—all that power. “Get the men on their knees, Slade. Line ‘em up. It’s to be morning soon, and we have to get these bodies in the river before sunrise.”

Slade, Ehren, and a third mercenary quickly unbound the Vael men from their chairs and shoved them forward, knees striking cobblestones harshly. As she had done with Aidan, Johane removed Corbinian’s and Gavin’s gags. “Oh, Corbinian…those pretty Vael eyes…the crows will love plucking them, like precious gems, from your head as it sits atop the city walls. And you, Gavin…so much like your mother. Your eyes are like little bits of chocolate truffle. Tell me, are you as much of a weakling as she?”

Gavin spit at the mage, but missed. “You shut your whore mouth about my mother!”

“Ah…thank you, Seneschal. I know who’s next,” Johane said with a grin. Gavin braced himself, squeezing his eyes shut and mumbling a prayer under his breath. Johane stepped back as the third mercenary approached the three men with a sharpened greatsword. A single nod later, Corbinian’s head was rolling towards her feet. Aidan’s breath started to catch as his chest tightened, painfully so, when his eldest son’s headless body flopped onto the ground. He opened and closed his left fist repeatedly as he struggled to calm himself.

“One down, two to go. And since I want the Prince to see everything he’s ever loved taken from him—“

“Fine. Do it, then, you old hag. Quit talking, and act,” Gavin said defiantly, not a hint of a waver in his voice. Aidan wasn’t sure how it was possible, but he was incredibly proud, unbelievably scared, and immeasurably angry all at once. The crushing in his chest was worsening now, and his breaths were shallow pants. Aidan closed his eyes, desperate to regain composure, just a moment before Johane gave another signal to the swordsman. Aidan didn’t need to open his eyes; the sick thump of a head, striking cobblestone was now all too familiar to him.

_So this is it. This is how it ends. An inglorious death in my Captain’s Keep, my disembodied head destined to keep watch over my precious principality as my corpse floats down to the Waking Sea to feed the fishes. All for naught, too…she knows exactly where Sebastian is. Richard is no match if she sends a force after him like she did for us. I tried, Maker…You know how I tried to keep them all safe. If you have any love for the Vael clan at all…no. That’s not right. You are acting in your infinite wisdom, and this is…this is for the best._

“Aidan! Did you fall asleep before you could even say goodbye to your Seneschal? I’d say I’m surprised…but I know how cold and heartless you can be.”

Aidan opened his eyes slowly, fixing them on Johane. His face was calm, resolute, as she ranted about their past even more. He couldn’t even be bothered to listen to her; there was no point. He would be dying shortly anyway. Aidan simply concentrated on his breathing, tuning out the mage’s venomous words. From somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind, he could hear the Starkhaven Chantry’s rendition of the Chant of Light as clear as day. As he continued breathing, the music filled his ears.

“Enough! If you’re not even going to respond to me, then I’ll just be done with you,” Johane spat.

Aidan held his breath in anticipation of the first thin kiss of cold on the back of his neck, and he squeezed his eyes shut, desperate to picture himself anywhere but here, in this dark, dank cell that had once been the pride and joy of his Captain…his friend.

Suddenly, Aidan found himself outside, on a bright Starkhaven spring day. The sun warmed his face as he tilted it towards the sky and sucked in a breath of sweet, clean air, tinged with the scent of the pines and cedars around him. It mixed with the aroma of the horse beneath him—hay and leather and saddle soap—and a slow, relaxed smile spread across Aidan’s face. _Maker’s breath, I love my homeland._ He slipped down from his horse and straightened his kilt, automatically giving a firm tug at the bottom of his jerkin to straighten it. Aidan’s black boots sank into the lush green carpet of turf as he approached the ancient stone bridge at the rear of the Palace grounds. The Minanter flowed beneath it, clear and cold, the same color blue as his eyes. The same color blue as his father’s eyes; the same color as Sebastian’s eyes. One foot in front of the other, over old stone tinged with mottled green from moss and lichen, and Aidan soon found he stood at the peak of the arched span. He froze when he saw who stood on the other side.

“Welcome home, Son,” Colum Vael called from the foot of the bridge. A grin spanned the elder Vael’s face, laugh lines and crows’ feet seeming less like signs of age and more like badges of honor for a life well-lived. “Damn boy, you’re looking old. Come here, let me give you a hug.”

Aidan couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth as he watched his father fidget with the blue-trimmed gold sash that striped his torso, trying to get the _lion rampant_ brooch that secured it to sit just so. He looked down to make sure his own sash wasn’t spun out of place from riding, lamenting that he had yet to match the number of medals that Colum earned during his reign. Shaking his head lightly, Aidan resumed his pace, feeling his steps grow lighter and lighter as he descended. As his foot left the stone span, Colum slipped a weighty arm around his shoulders, pulling him in for a quick squeeze. Aidan could smell his father’s soap, and the scent of cedar mixed with juniper to take him back to his boyhood, when Colum used to give him piggyback rides around the Palace—back before life got so serious…so hard.

“What took you so damned long? Andra’s been waiting on you, and Corbinian’s wee ones are about to ruin their good clothes. Come on now, let’s get this over with, before the painter starts complaining about wasting light and all that,” Colum said as he pulled Aidan along, over to where the rest of the Vael family was gathered.

Aidan stopped again when he caught sight of his wife, as beautiful as the day they married, in her pale gold silk gown, a swath of Vael tartan tied snugly below her breasts and trailing behind her. Her long brown-black locks, mingled with glittering silver strands, hung loose, and held down only by the delicate filigree circlet around her forehead. She held little Ainsley, desperately trying to smooth the angelic girl’s messy red ringlets out of her face. The toddler giggled delightfully as she tried to snatch Andra’s crown.

“Here, let me,” Bria said as she approached, taking Ainsley. “I don’t have a crown to tempt this little one so.” She smiled and kissed the little girl’s face, taking her to sit by Aileen and Hannah, who smothered the tiny princess with affection. Aileen went to work on Ainsley’s hair, while Hannah took a handkerchief and worried at a spot on the toddler’s dress. Ainsley, in true royal fashion, stuck her nose up in the air, pleased as could be that her aunts were acting like handmaidens. Bria couldn’t help but laugh at the chubby-faced girl in her lap; little Ainsley Vael was just shy of three, but already had a flair for the dramatic.

Just then, the cracking of wood was followed by a thump, then a pitiful wail. Everyone turned to the sound to see Corbinian’s eldest sitting on the ground, a broken limb behind him, rubbing at his tartan-covered rear as tears flowed down his bright red cheeks. Corbinian reached him first, letting out a breath and shaking his head in exasperation when he saw his boy was just fine…again. Mara wasn’t far behind, cradling Fiona in her arms, the infant cooing and smiling from being bounced around as her mother ran. Gavin leaned against a tree off to the side, taking everything in, arms folded across his chest and an amused smirk on his lips. He pushed off of the tree and approached his father.

“Imagine that,” Gavin muttered as his mahogany eyes glittered, fixed on the sight of his wife—so swollen with child—as she fussed with the rambunctious toddler in her arms. “Corbinian’s little hellion is bent on giving him a heart attack, I swear. There’s no doubt that little Malcolm is one hundred percent Vael-blooded. The little brat is turning this whole thing into a circus, and ruined his trews to boot.”

“Aw, you’re too hard on the wee one, Senes— _Gavin_ ,” Aidan said, glancing at his son. “And this is far from a circus…this is beautiful. A perfect day…with my perfect family.” He looked around. Something— _someone_ was missing. “But where is Sebastian? We can’t sit for a family portrait without him!”

“You sent Sebastian away, remember? He won’t be joining us,” the middle Vael son said as he patted his father’s back, a grateful smile on his face. “Not for a long, long time.”

Aidan looked at Gavin for a long moment, then bit his lower lip and nodded, looking back to where the rest of his family stood once more. They had all assembled, ready for the artist to begin, just as soon as Aidan took his place.

“Aidan…it’s time. Join us,” Andra called out.

As Aidan took his first step, he tripped on a stone and stumbled, able to catch himself before falling completely. The gold diadem on his head flew off as he pitched forward, rolling quickly back towards the bank of the Minanter, striking a rock, and making a funny metallic _clink_. When he picked up the crown, Aidan caught sight of his reflection in the polished surface and dropped it again.

The golden crown of Starkhaven, with its prominent _lion rampant_ front and center, rolled again. It crossed emerald grass and rich earth, eventually rolling along pitch-blackened stone. It hit the edge of a slightly raised cobble and stopped, the pent-up energy from rolling causing the band to spin like a top. It spun for only a moment before it tipped over, the flat of the band wobbling as it rocked against the ground. The hollow, metallic _wub-wub-wub_ that the crown made against the stone grew louder, faster, before it came to a stop.

The headless body of Aidan Vael dropped to the floor beside his crown, blood spattering across the _lion rampant_ , right across its neck, as though the lion itself had suffered the same fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't tell you how much I cried, then moped, after I wrote this part. I'm very sad to see the Vael family go, but the canon dictates...
> 
> I think I'll miss Gavin most of all. 
> 
> Next chapter is very short, but will provide a small bridge to Book Two.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and for all the feedback I've received. It's really gratifying to put something like this out there and have some sort of reaction, even if it's just one person who reads it. 
> 
> Beta services by the lovely Kira Tamarion, though any outstanding errors are all mine.


	30. Epilogue: And Then All Was Quiet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The calm before the storm.

**_Starkhaven Keep, 23 rd of Solace, about an hour before sunrise:_ **

It was over. The bodies of the Vael family were strewn about in the dank, soundless cell as the Flint Company mercenaries stood stock-still, awaiting further instructions. In fact, nobody stirred—not even Johane Harimann—as the rivers of blood from Aidan, Andra, Corbinian, and Gavin all flowed into each other, forming a massive crimson pool that shimmered eerily in the torchlight.

Baron Stuart shuddered, cleared his throat, and crossed the cell, picking up the crown. He turned and faced Goran Vael, whose shoulders were now being held by Johane. Stuart placed the crown on Goran’s head, taking the edge of his sleeve and wiping the blood from the _lion rampant_.

“Your Highness, I am but your humble servant,” Stuart muttered; head down, as he dropped to bended knee.

Goran, utterly horrified by what he’d just witnessed, looked over his shoulder at Johane for guidance. “It’s alright, my boy,” the mage whispered. “The Baron is merely swearing fealty to you. He will be your friend…as long as you do a good job as Prince. Remember what we talked about earlier? What you have to do to be a good Prince?”

“Y-y-you s-s-said t-t-to li-listen t-to you,” Goran said, cheeks burning as Baron Stuart shot up and stared shamelessly at him.

The Baron gave Johane a cold glare. “You said he was biddable…you didn’t say he was an outright idiot. The people are never going to accept this simpleton as Prince,” he barked. “I should have known this would end up being a mistake.”

Johane stepped out from behind Goran and approached Stuart. “But don’t you see, my dear Baron…he’ll do whatever I tell him,” she whispered in his ear. “And I already told him to make you and MacSwain into Lords.” She traced her finger along Stuart’s arm, teasingly. “Continue to…play your cards right, and you could see your fortunes rise even further.”

Stuart swallowed hard as he looked down at the corpses a few feet away. _Or play them wrong and lose my head like Aidan Vael._

“We need to get moving, _Lord_ Stuart,” Johane said. “It’ll be daybreak in only about an hour or so, and Slade’s crew needs to clean up this mess.” She gripped the upper arm of Goran and started to lead him out. Stuart followed, pausing at the door. He looked over his shoulder as the mercenaries started to loot the Vaels’ bodies. Shaking his head, he followed behind the new Prince of Starkhaven. _It has begun._

Ehren, rifling through Aidan’s pockets, pulled out a gold locket with a _lion rampant_ on the front. He grinned and shoved it into his belt pouch, picturing what his fellow mercenary’s reaction might be when he presented it to her. _Ol’ Emmy is gonna have t’ give it up when I give ‘er this li’l bauble._ He stood and grabbed the disembodied heads of Aidan, Corbinian, and Gavin, shoving them into a burlap sack before leaving the cell, bound for the portcullis—and the iron spikes atop the walls on either side of it. He moved stealthily, despite knowing there were no guardsmen that would stop him. Climbing the rickety wooden ladder, Ehren reached the spikes and opened the now-bloody sack. It was a tricky balancing act as he struggled to keep hold of the bag while needing both hands to jam the stumpy necks onto weathered metal but he finally got it done. He let out a wearied sigh and peeked out between the heads of Aidan and Corbinian to look out over Starkhaven, the rosy-red fingers of dawn just starting to peek over the horizon. A series of splashes caught his attention and Ehren flicked his gaze to his left just in time to see shadowy figures dump the final Vael corpse into the Minanter River. The bodies floated down stream, a macabre flotilla, bound for the Waking Sea.

As Ehren descended the ladder, he couldn’t help but feel a little guilty. _Won’t be nothin’ t’ put in ‘er urns…shouldn’t bother me, but it does._ Aidan’s warning about his youngest son’s Seeker guardian also weighed heavily on his mind. _Hope the boys in Kirkwall got their job done, else we’re inna world of trouble if ‘at last one survives an’ decides t’ get even._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for the next installment in the Only Just a Dream series, called Black Sheep, White Armor: Book Two!
> 
> We will continue the story of Sebastian Vael as he comes to terms with his family’s slaughter and meets a certain apostate who will change his life forever. We’ll also follow events ‘back home’ in Starkhaven as the citizens adapt to the new Prince…or not.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has checked out this little story. I’ve always wanted to explore the downfall of the Vaels. I can’t believe I actually finished it. There have been times over the past few months when I didn’t think I had the will to continue writing at all, but the thought of leaving this incomplete so close to the end really bothered me and finally got my butt in gear. I hope you’ll continue reading along as I tell Sebastian’s story, if not the whole series, as it goes on.
> 
> Beta’d by Kira Tamarion, but any outstanding errors are my own. Kira has been very, very patient and wonderful, especially with these final chapters. She has my eternal gratitude.


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